65th Hunger Games
by Oli2Fab4U
Summary: SYOT CLOSED. Can you trust the stranger you met only days ago? Can you trust that weird kid from your District that now, suddenly, you seem to be associated with? Will you let a teenager, a mutt or a gamemaker in a room determine your fate or will you guide it yourself? The Hunger Games reveals answers to all of these questions.
1. Chapter 1

**I know I just finished my 70th HG but I wanted to write one and both of my notepads of info for my other Games are in my university city and I'm craving writing something so... here we are...**

* * *

 _Octavius Mattlehorn, Capitol, Head Gamemaker_

Reviewing all of the potential arenas is never fun. Why? Shelving some of the ideas away is torture and having to pick just _one_ is always near impossible. Perhaps it's my own fault for being so creative but, as many tell me, at least I have no shortage of ideas - right? I guess I have that going in my favour. Plus, an abundance of arena ideas never hurt a Head Gamemaker in the past.

I have three standout ones this year, each of which I'm proud of. Some aspects of them are arguably cliche or traditional and I will admit, some are recycled elements from Games past, but it's always nice to take a nod back at the Games' history. I circle around each of them, a model of each under a perfect glass dome to protect it from outside harm. Each is so different, each brings a level of excitement to the Games that I can't wait to see.

The first arena is, quite simply, a labyrinth. The roof is open, just so the tributes aren't encased fully, but the walls are a mix of concrete and dense hedge. In the centre is a large clearing which contains the Cornucopia. The clearing's shape is a perfect circle and has various trees lining it's perimeter - adding not only texture, but some difficulty in finding the various exits. Throughout the arena floor is lush grass. In the northern, eastern, southern and western points are similar clearings, each with their own tree perimeter but not in perfect circles. In the northern clearing is a lake, clear and drinkable. I have plans for this water to become contaminated somehow - maybe with the blood of deceased tributes? The eastern clearing is a series of lakes and creeks, all shielded under trees that stretch far above the labyrinth walls. It's quite idyllic and part of me makes a mental note to suggest making it a holiday of sorts for Capitolites afterwards since it looks _that_ good. I'm not a total savage - the water here will remain drinkable for the entirety of the Games, however I think I'll make the forest portion more overgrown as time moves on. The southern clearing is barren and desolate. The road to it? The paths leading to the clearing will make it appear luscious and green, enticing the tributes and attempting to force them to succumb to their curiosity. Beyond the empty landscape, I have no other plans for this clearing. Perhaps it'll become my test zone? The western clearing resembles the Cornucopia clearing the most - it's a plans field but standing in the centre is a single hut. There's not a lot in the hut but, with my plans to make the night temperature of the arena to be fairly cold, any form of shelter is good - no?

The second arena is one that represents the four seasons. For the most part, the arena is rather plain and boring. The Cornucopia stands in the centre with a lake to it's east. There's plains to the west and a small mountain range to the north. To the south is a beach area with another small lake that masquerades as an ocean. There's various forest patches dotted around the arena, paired with some plains and rivers that intricately link the two lakes together. Like one would expect with a season-based arena, the landscape will change as and when the 'seasons' do. The arena will start in the summer, with every flora bursting with life. There'll be grass to hide in and the trees will offer some form of protection for those who can climb high enough to conceal themselves within their leaves. When it comes to autumn, the various trees will have their leaves change colours and the feelings of an approaching emptiness will become apparent. In winter, the greenness will be replaced with a barren feeling. Most trees will lose their leaves, as will hedges, and there'll be a feeling of emptiness. Most rivers will freeze over as will parts of both lakes. Finally, in the spring season, the trees and hedges and lakes will begin to become usable again as a means of survival. The cycle will repeat itself over the course of the Games until the victor has been crowned. Provisionally, we have set the season turn around time as every couple of days. Temperatures will match the season, however the winter and summer seasons will experience extremes of their climates as and when we decide.

The third arena is an abandoned city. It's a rather traditional arena idea, one we've seen many of times in the past. I decide to change it up slightly with adding some anomalies here and there. The Cornucopia itself is in the centre of a town square with decrepit buildings surrounding it. These buildings encompass most of the centre of the arena - the only greenery are the odd overgrown park - and extend to the very east of the arena. To the north is an abandoned theme park, some rides of which are operational to an extent. Our goal here is to entice the tributes to go on them, especially the younger ones, and watch as the infrastructure of the rides crumble beneath them. To the west is a cove whereby the cave extends pretty far beneath the ground and goes back a fair distance. And, quite simply to the south, is a woodland area. Each area is designed to recede in some way or another to ensure that the Games don't go on for too long. The various buildings will collapse without warning, meaning by the end of the Games there shall only be a fair few standing. The cove's cave will full with a tar like substance from the very end of the cave and will cause anyone who touches it to stick to anything and everything, hopefully ensuring that a few tributes drown because of it. The cove's water will remain salty throughout the Games and it will be up to the tributes to work around this. The woodland, albeit small, will be the victim to a forest fire at some point and will diminish into nothing bur a pile of ash.

All the various mutts haven't been planned yet, however, I can assure the President that they'll be just as exciting as the arenas themselves.

My jobs now? To pick an arena and wait for the twenty four tributes to arrive.

* * *

 **The form below MUST be PMed to be with the header '65th Hunger Games - Whatever District and Gender.' Anything in italics is optional and reservations last three days. With reservations, you must send me a PM with the above title format and, when the tribute is ready, submit them to me in the same PM thread so I can keep things organised. Users can submit up to two tributes each.**

 **I don't think I'll be doing this first come first served but, should I find a tribute I love, I will add them to the list on my profile so make sure to check there often!**

 **The Form:**

Name:

Age:

District:

Gender:

Weapon:

Strengths (No more than 3):

Weakness (No less than 3):

Personality:

Appearance:

Volunteered or Reaped?

Reaction to Reaping/Reason for Volunteering:

What are they doing on the reaping day?:

Family/Significant Relations:

 _Token:_

What goes on in their goodbye?:

Chariot Look (Be prepared for me to not use it if the other tribute's design resonates with me more):

 _Chariot Angle:_

Interview Look + Angle:

 _Wanted Alliances:_

Games strategy:

Preferred placement (no guarantees!):

Also, which arena should I do?:

* * *

 **That's probably my longest form but I found that in my previous Games I didn't ask for much direction on certain things such as the goodbyes or Games strategy so I wanted to make sure I had all of that covered!**

 **I'm really motivated to write this so please submit soon!**

 **I think I'll keep submissions open until the 20th? Or until I have at least one spot per tribute spot.**

 **I do just want to make it known that I am not giving up on my other stories! I just have stuff planned for them and I left all my books relating to that up in my university city so I won't be able to continue them until early January (though since they're the reapings I might be able to pump a few out from memory!)**


	2. Prologue: The 64th Annual Hunger Games

**I figured I'd do a chapter not only to make sure this SYOT is generating interest but also just to say I know, canonly, Finnick won the 65th Games and Cashmere'll win the Games I'm about to mention but... ITS MY UNIVERSE I MADE ACCIDENTALLY OK GODDAMMIT :|**

* * *

 _Recount of the Finale of the 64th Annual Hunger Games. Nobody's PoV_

 _It's the final day of the Games and seven tributes remain. An anomaly, one that we don't expect, but there's an atmosphere about the morning that just tells us viewers that today is the last day. The day starts like any day does - a reminder of the tributes remaining. Their names flash across the screen with pinpoints as to where they are in the arena._

 _GRANDORE - DISTRICT ONE MALE. AMORA - DISTRICT TWO FEMALE. THESEUS - DISTRICT TWO MALE. AYLAH - DISTRICT THREE FEMALE. RYE - DISTRICT NINE MALE. MARRON - DISTRICT TEN MALE. HYACINTH - DISTRICT ELEVEN FEMALE._

 _The various pinpoints put them quite close together, indicating that some tributes who had been further away from the centre such as Rye and Hyacinth had come closer. The pinpoints also show that the three-strong Career alliance of Grandore, Amora and Theseus remained together and strong. That meant that Aylah and Marron, who seemed to not have moved much from the Cornucopia anyway from the night before, hadn't made much progress either way. Just by looking at the points of the tributes' locations, one can tell that today is intended to be action packed - probably to atone for the lifeless past few days._

 _The first shock to start the day is the betrayal of Grandore. A taller man that towers over both Amora and Theseus, Grandore is a fan favourite to win but that doesn't seem to exempt him from the pair from Two's cunningness - no matter how many sponsors he received that gave him the edge over them. Whilst Theseus pins down the sleeping male, Amora wastes no time in climbing on top of him and wrapping her hands around his throat and pushing. Naturally, he wakes up as the two do so and thrashes about, trying to at least dislodge one of them so he can attack the other. Or escape. Either's plausible. It seems, however, that both Amora and Theseus are determined to take him out as Amora squeezes harder, as evident by her knuckles getting paler, and Theseus takes out a knife and stabs wildly at Grandore's moving limbs, slowly rendering him unable to fight due to the pain that no doubt is ripping through his body. It's a longer ordeal than just slitting his throat (which does cause murmurs of why the two didn't just do that), but Grandore eventually succumbs to the suffocation and his cannon booms throughout the arena._

 _The various cameras pan towards all of the remaining tributes in the arena. Aylah from Three is jolted awake from her sleep and she immediately scrambles to pack up the supplies that she had left out the night before. Marron, who had previously been taking a drink not too far from where the Careers had situated Camp, raises the sickle he has and adopts a more defensive posture. Rye and Hyacinth, two unlikely allies due to their obvious conflicting views (comical arguments between the two throughout their time in the arena had made them popular amongst the Capitolites), look at each other and decide to move more cautiously, not wanting to be ambushed._

 _For the next two hours or so, no other activity happens within the arena. The pair from Two spend time tribute hunting with no avail; Rye and Hyacinth bicker some more and nearly walk into the path of the aforementioned; Marron hunts for some more food, clearly planning to excuse himself from the activity he seems to be sensing around him; and Aylah climbs into another tree to try and take some form of a nap. The arena remains like this for a few hours - calm and serene... and two much like the past few days._

 _Without any announcements, mutts are released into the arena. Throughout these Games a number of mutts have been released in waves. First there were swarms of trackerjackers flying about - they took out a fair few tributes. Then there were wolf mutts with enhanced senses that, unfortunately, were all killed off by the tributes before a fatality could be claimed. The last wave occurred a day or so ago when large snake mutts were released - coiling and digesting a fair few number of tributes. That's how we went from fourteen tributes to seven in a single day. I do admit, it was gruesome seeing some tributes being digested. Naturally, there's a lot of suspense on what these new mutts are and how they'll change the Games for some tributes._

 _The mutts... aren't really comparable to any animal, not to give them any sense of recognisable identity. They appear to be scaly and walk on all fours unnaturally, as if their long limbs prevent them from doing so. From a glance, their head is consisted mainly of two beady eyes and a large mouth. Some walk with their stomach facing down, head the right side up whilst others walk vice versa. They're truly images of nightmares and the viewers only know it's a matter of time before they ascend upon the tributes._

 _The first tributes to experience them and fall victim to them were Rye and Hyacinth. The two had been engaged in another bicker, something about food (nobody was really paying attention for the mutts were moving on their position quickly), before they had been forced silent by an unusual screech - one that belonged to the mutts. The camera pans to both of the tributes as their face contort into ones of pure fear before they're quickly devoured, neither having a single second to react or do something._

 _The various blood-curling screams causes the cameras to pan to Aylah who amusingly falls out of her tree, not having tied herself down or anything. The camera watches as she squirms, howling in pain. Her screams appear to attract the attention of Marron. We watch as the two exchange her conversation, her barely being able to keep it up as she gasps for air. It's clear she's not only winded but in incredible pain - though one can only guess that falling out of a tree and landing pretty much smack on your back can cause unbearable pain. The two talk about how badly hurt she is and it seems like Marron is very prepared to leave her before she asks him to kill her. She asks if he can make it painless and he, quite simply, gives her the fatal stab in the heart and lets her cannon go off._

 _And, just like that, by midday we've gone from seven tributes to three; Amora, Theseus and Marron._

 _As the nightmare mutts, as the Capitolites have dubbed them, push the tributes into the centre through their horrendous screams, tensions appear to arise within the final alliance. The arguments they have start from being over how they were divvying the food out but quickly escalated into ones of differences in strategies and who was right and who was wrong - statistics such as who had the most kill currently came into play in hopes that one of them could establish dominance over the other. In a breaking point of running to the Cornucopia, Amora throws a knife at Theseus' legs, causing him to stumble and wallow in his pain, giving the ascending mutts enough chance to advance on him and eat him alive. Amora watches as this happens, as she sees the pain she puts her former ally through. It leaves one obstacle though from her going home - Marron._

 _Amora reaches the Cornucopia before Marron does and is able to climb the golden walls quickly, establishing herself as having the uphill advantage. She sees Marron run to the Cornucopia, chased by the nightmare mutts. His death, for being the final death, is rather uneventful. As he attempts to climb the Cornucopia, Amora stomps on his hands when they get close enough for her to do so and he falls to his death, suffering a similar fate as Theseus. His cannon sounds and Amora is crowned as the Victor of the 64th Annual Hunger Games._

* * *

 **IM NOT GONNA LIE I WROTE THIS ALL AT 4AM.**

 **So please do excuse any mistakes. I have read through it but, again, I'm working on a 5:30am brain so any mistakes will be fixed when I go back. I just wanted to get something out there.**

 **Yeah basically what prompted this chapter is I know Finnick won the SYOT's Games, Cashmere won these Games and, technically, Annie Cresta won the 70th HG where Dion. This chapter not only served as a way to generate more interest in the SYOT but also just to say, I know! New universe, yo.**

 **As always, reviews are always appreciated~!**

 **Oli**


	3. District One Reaping

**WOOOOOO I can do the District One Reaping! I'm hoping that, with this, the District Two pair can be taken so I can just have the momentum to carry on! (I know you don't need to go in order but shh...)**

* * *

 _Ciara O'Malley, District One Female, 17 years old_

When my alarm goes off in the morning to wake me up, I'm half tempted to put it on snooze and go back to sleeping. A small pounding in the back of my head puts up a fight though and I pull a pillow over my eyes, just to block out any potential sunlight that's disrupting me. Part of my mind curses that I went out last night - the main cause for my headache now - but the other part of me still retains it was an apt celebration.

You see, it's not often that District One picks it's volunteers, usually it's a scramble to see who can be the loudest and a pot of luck as to who the escort chooses but there are cases where the Academy picks the designated volunteers. It doesn't stop people from fighting to try and volunteer over them but nobody really minds - it's more entertainment and a better chance for sponsors in the Capitol. Well, just this past week, I was informed that I was to be the female volunteer for our District. I don't know if my partner has been picked in a similar way, but who cares? It's an honour to be chosen, _especially_ when you're seventeen. The look on the eighteen-year-olds' faces was priceless and now I know I need to try even harder in the Games - just to show them up. Such a momentous thing called for a celebration, does it not? And that's what my friends and I did. Last night we decided that we'd have our own celebration - one before I come home.

Usually we'd go out to one of the few clubs that District One has to offer. They're scarce and people our age _shouldn't_ be there, but it seems the few Peacekeepers who do preside over the bouncer role tend to take a blind eye if you perform well in the Academy. That's sort of your ID, mostly because they figure you're going to volunteer and then they can watch as you fight for your life. A lovely concept, right? Well, that was our plan. I was all for it until Belle, definitely the sensitive and motherly one of our group, suggested we went somewhere a little more quiet - being caught drinking the night before the reaping wouldn't look good for me and, as she pointed out, might even revoke my volunteer privileged and that can't happen.

So, instead, we decided to make our way to a little clearing at the edge of the District. In the day it's used as a recreational park for the youngsters and, sometimes, a mini training grounds for those who aren't allowed to go to the Academy due to their age. That probably explained the plastic swords and other signature Hunger Games weapons strewn across the floor. I don't remember the night well - I made it a point to wholly enjoy myself - but I remember parts here and there. I remember us celebrating over the small bits of alcohol my boyfriend, Paxton, and his friend Malachite were able to sneak out. Belle didn't share the same enthusiasm, if I remember correctly, but my other two friends Avia and Maigh were definitely feeling it. Belle had some, just out of respect. Nobody blames her though. I also remember us teasing Malachite about his crush on Maigh. He's not secret in it and, when he's tipsy, even less so. It's always fun to poke fun at him and, for the most part, he takes it in stride. Nobody quite knows if Maigh has a crush on him, but I hope for his sake that she does. Other parts that I remember fade in and out as I try to block out the pounding still going away in the back of my head. One of them was Belle offering up some advice. Whilst myself, Avia and Maigh usually focus on the fighting element of the Games, Belle's much more survival skills orientated and I remember her trying to give me some advice, knowing I'm not the most proficient in that area. I remember bits of it - like a pink berry should be eaten with caution because if you don't wash the outer skin then you'll surely succumb to it's poison layer - but other than that, her tips have faded into nothingness. The last thing I wholly remember was us trying to sneak into everyone's various homes secretly. Against my will, I was the first to go home on the account of being 'the future victor.' I hope I laughed a lot at that - it still seems like an amusing statement now.

I probably would've gotten another hour or so of sleep if it hadn't been for my mother waking me up in a frantic. She probably knows where I went last night, she's not stupid, and she hates it but hey, a girl has to have fun before she goes off and wins the Hunger Games. I can hear her pull the curtains and I don't have the chance to register where she is in my room when the pillow that _had_ been covering my eyes comes flying off. I squint, trying to adjust my eyes, before hearing her clap.

"I don't care if you're the volunteer," My mother says, clapping louder when she sees I'm not responding to her plans to wake me up, "You're not going to win anything lying down. Plus it'd be nice if you had breakfast with us before you went away - if you could spare us that."

I mumble something along the lines of 'yeah sure' as I wave her away. I don't know if it satisfies her or not but she tuts and leaves my room, slamming the door behind her. The rebellious teenage part of me wants to stay in bed, _just_ to defy her but she's right. I'm not going to become victor just lying about. The pounding headache I had has subsided enough for me to change into my reaping clothes. Even though we live in the poorer part of District One, we're still able to afford nice clothes (much nicer than our counterparts in other Districts, might I add) and I decide to pick out a plain and simple velvet dress. I leave my hair down, letting it flow effortlessly past my shoulders. I give myself a once over in the mirror before heading down to see my parents - I need to make sure I not only look the part of a victor, but also that of someone the Capitol can approve of.

When satisfied after pressing out some creases and running my hands through my hair a few times, I smile at my reflection before making my way down the stairs.

* * *

 _Gawain Gentry, District One Male, 18 years old_

Technically, one shouldn't be allowed in the Academy's training rooms at these hours - most dedicate them to preparing for the reaping. Even if you're not reaped this year, it's not past the Capitolites to scour through old reapings to find footage of the volunteers when they were younger, hence why everyone _always_ aims to look their best. Anyway, due to the fact that I am the designated male volunteer for District One this year, I was able to convince the guard to let me in - just to get some last minute practise in.

For a moment, I take in how surreal it is to be in the training centre by myself. No-one else is around to be of annoyance or waste their time trying to come to grips with weapons whilst the rest of us, those experienced, are waiting to get our training in. My place of choice is the fencing simulation so I can brush up on my skills before I have to wait a few days until I'm given the chance to do so again in the Capitol. I remember growing up that a lot of people questioned fencing, some saying it was more graceful than practical, but I proved them wrong when I was able to sidestep away from them quickly and thrust my rapier with power, both outsmarting and overpowering them. Plus, the skills _are_ transferable to some degree so I know I'll never be at a true disadvantage. Besides, I dare not change my weapon of expertise the day of the reaping - that's a death wish in itself, and I don't intend to die.

I walk over to the simulation, the same one I've used for many a year now, and choose the expert level simulation. It'll be a challenge and more akin to what I will face within the arena. I wait a few seconds before the familiar orange figure appears before me, it's own rapier raised and ready to fight. I am half-tempted to give it a bow of courtesy, as an apology in advance for the win I'm about to accumulate. Now's not the time though - maybe I will do that mockingly in the arena.

The simulation puts up a good fight and it does keep me on my toes, the exact thing I wanted but I am able to disarm it easily and, well, nothing less than gracefully. Apparently, some in the district believe that I am nothing short of flamboyant but I disagree. One would say it's more, style and elegance rather than flamboyance - there seems to be some negative connotations with the latter and I know there's nothing negative about oneself. But if flamboyant is what they describe the best of the best, well then, I guess I must be flamboyant and I will take it as a compliment.

The deal I had struck up with the guard is that after one simulation, I would leave. Part of me had hoped that he had forgotten but, as if on cue, the guard walks in and orders me to go. I give him my thanks, a little bow on top just to show him my gratitude before leaving for my home. Unfortunately, my plans on how I wanted to spend my last hours at home _had_ to be altered. I much would have preferred to get my food and excuse myself to my bedroom to indulge in some prized Capitol literature, as opposed to having a luncheon with my family but, alas, I can only imagine how losing their son for a few weeks can effect my parents so we agreed to a compromise. I'd eat with them, _only_ if I could read my book. It isn't the ideal way I wanted to spend my lunch but I'm sure the company would do me good. Besides, just because I'm eating with them doesn't mean one has to speak with them.

And that is what I did.

I ate with my family without a problem. They spoke to each other, sometimes trying to get me involved, but I'd wave a hand at them as my response. I can't help it, not really, the part of the book I was reading was getting _very_ intense and I make a note to ask my parents to bring it to me so I can read it as I head to the Capitol. Perhaps, when I am crowned the victor, I can meet the author and give her my praise and ask for a signed copy. That would be the icing on the extremely extravagant cake that will be my victory.

I didn't dare eat in my reaping clothes, nor did I truly do my hair before. I didn't wait either to get ruined and, akin to my family's nature, we shared red wine over lunch (my pompous sister has recently decided she has become a wine aficionado!). I dare not think about what impression one would give if one was to turn up and declare oneself a volunteer whilst looking, well, _dirty_. No. I wait until after I excuse myself to get ready. I make sure my hair is in it's signature quiff and give myself a last minute inspection in the mirror before I leave for the square. I wear simple black dress pants with matching black shoes. My white dress shirt, with ruffled lace frills coming down from the top button and lining the buttons, is underneath a simply gorgeous pale blue blazer. I look, quite simply, _dashing_. My parents think so too. They themselves are obsessed with the Hunger Games (despite the messiness of some of the killings - none of us in the family are _particular_ fans of that aspect. The outer district kids are so barbaric at times!) and they comment that I'll make a good impression to those watching the reapings. I'd like to think so. Besides, I am _always_ good at making a memorable and striking first impression.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

The square of District One fills quickly as the bell for the reaping sounds throughout the air. There's always a fight every year amongst the parents and those too old to be reaped as to who'll stand in the square alongside the reapees and who'll have to filter into the roads surrounding and watch from monitors. In a district like One where the Games are heralded as prestigious and a support runs deep, nobody wants to be far from the main event.

The escort for District One is a rather old woman at perhaps seventy years old, give or take ten years either way. Some rumours suggest she's been the only escort that the district has ever had but others settle that she started escorting at the First Quarter Quell. What definitely is known, however, is that despite her age he's always able to deliver a quality performance - something both the Capitol and District One eat up.

The introduction to the Games always goes swimmingly in Districts One, Two and Four. As Career Districts they enjoy it and, as much as a District could, agree with it and are more than happy to train their children up for the Games. The camera pans not only on the escort as she reads the words on her cards but to those in the audience. Both spectators and reapees alike are moved by her words, highlighting the loyalty to the Capitol that runs deep through the district. After the mayor's words, the escort announces that she'll be choosing the tributes. Many in the Capitol will wait on baited breath. District One isn't known to be as organised as District Two; most years their tributes are picked at the escorts choosing but in some years, such as this year, the District One Academy will choose two tributes for her to pick as the volunteers, having designated them that right.

She walks to the bowl of female names first and takes her time choosing the slip. She knows she doesn't need to truly try and choose one for it won't make much difference. This is all for show. She walks back to the centre of the stage and takes her time unfolding the piece of paper, as if scared to tear or rip it slightly.

"Adella Loveglass!"

A girl from the fifteen-year-old's section begins to walk forward. In the odd occasion that someone is chosen to volunteer, all those in the academy are trained to just walk forward and wait for the escort to choose the right volunteer - and that's exactly what Adella does. She walks forward, awaiting the shouts behind her. It doesn't take long for an excessive amount of declarations of volunteering to be heard. The escort scans the various girls with their hands in the air, waving frantically to get her attention. Remembering the details and the picture shown, she chooses the designated female volunteer and asks her to walk forward.

A girl who stands at a respectable 5'8 makes her way down the aisle. Her striking red hair bouncing ever so slightly in her step which can only be described as proud, energetic. The first thing that strikes the escort, and inevitably the rest of Panem, is how robust the girl looks. There's no question that she has an aura of beauty about her and at face value she can only be described as that, she looks like knows how to endure hardships and that in itself allows the minds of the citizens of Panem to wander, wondering what she'll bring to the Games.

When asked for her name, the girl proudly lifts up her head to face her district and smiles, "Ciara O'Malley."

With the escort leading, the district erupts into applause, seemingly content with their female tribute. The first thing those in the Capitol will notice about Ciara is her accent is a little different to those normally from One. Albeit weak, there's a detectable twang and many can only assume that she is among the last of those who have preserved accents for generations.

Smiling, the escort repeats her same routine on the bowl full of male names. Unlike the female names where she just picked a name from the top, she digs her hand into the very centre of the bowl to retrieve the pawn in the volunteering process.

"Tybalt Miroiter!"

This time a boy from the twelve-year-old's section walks forward and, much quicker than that of the girls, the eruption of male volunteers almost has many in the square covering their ears. Like before, the escort has no trouble distinguish the actual volunteer from the pack. He, like Ciara, is distinct in how he looks. She chooses him and, like before, asks that he steps forward.

A boy from the eighteen-year-old's section who looks like he'd fit right in with the Capitolites emerges. The quiff of his hair bounces too as he walks, though his walk is different to that of his district partner's; she walks with sturdier pride whilst the male walks with flamboyance - an elegance probably more well suited for Ciara as opposed to him. He's tall and, just from his attire, the audience can tell he has _some_ muscle to him so he might not be a complete flounce.

When asked for his name, he smiles somewhat elegantly, "Gawain Gentry."

As before, the district claps after the cue from the escort. People can't help but notice the differences between them and how, in the past, the roles have been reversed. Ciara is more robust and many hope she'll be as fiery as her hair whilst Gawain, on the other hand, looks more dainty. His blonde, almost white, hair contrasts massively with hers and the only thing they share in common is a light eye colour; blue for Gawain, green for Ciara.

The tributes shake hands before entering the Justice Building to await their journey to the Capitol.

* * *

 **Ahhh! Here's the District One pair! I really like these two, just because there is such a contrast in them, not only in looks but their personalities and I hope I was able to get that across.**

 **Side note, Ciara _is_ Irish and I did attempt to kind of add some mannerisms in her PoV but it proved too difficult so, instead, I made sure I went overboard in Gawain's to highlight the difference. The extended use of 'I am' over 'I'm' and the 'one' a lot was for that purpose.**

 **As I mentioned before, in these Games I want to determine the victor via your opinions! So please do an opinion chart just to help me out on that front!**

 **Likewise, I'm finishing this off before work and I do really want to get this out so excuse the spelling mistakes and any errors! I'll go back and correct them... one day.**

 **As of publishing this, the following tributes are OPEN (to those who're stalking this story and haven't submitted/have just stumbled upon it): D2M, D2F, D4F, D5F and the D8M. Please submit!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy~!**

 **\- Oli**


	4. District Two Reaping

**And here's our District Two pair! It seems like, as with District One, we've got two opposites!**

* * *

 _Sweetie Persephone, District Two Female, 12 years old_

I always volunteer at the animal shelter - just because it's reaping day doesn't mean I'm going to stop that tradition! _My_ job at the shelter is one that plays with animals so they don't get lonely. Some of those who work there call it Chief Cuddler so that's my role at the shelter! I'm Sweetie, Chief Cuddler. Usually volunteers at the shelters have to clean up the messes made by the animals or, sometimes, help bathe them and whatnot. For whatever reason, I'm just allowed to play with them. I don't mind that though! They all seem to flock to me anyway so it makes it fun and easy. Some people say what I'm doing isn't actually beneficial or anything but in my eyes, if I can give the animals some hours of fun and play, then it's all worth it.

Reaping day is no different. Just because today is my first reaping doesn't mean I don't go down to the animal shelter. Actually, I want to go there more _because_ it's my first reaping. Hugging a puppy or feeding a rabbit a carrot is the best way to get rid of all the nasty, horrible feelings of anxiety and have them replaced with a warm, fuzzy feeling. I don't think I need to worry about being reaped - mom and dad said a bigger girl would volunteer for me if I was, and that's why they've let me out to come here. I think if I was a little older they'd have a harder time letting me, but they both dote on me so I'm sure I could persuade them.

Today I spend the day with two puppies - Scruffy and Dasher. I didn't come up with either name but they're both pretty self-explanatory; Scruffy is, well, scruffy and Dasher is _so_ fast it's hard to keep up with him! My weapon of choice today to try and curve their energy is a piece of rope with an old piece of chew toy wrapped at the end. Scruffy doesn't pay much attention to it - instead he wants to sit at my lap and snuggle into my dress and, as much as I want to let him and how I secretly allow him a few seconds of doing so, I can't get _too_ messy or, well, scruffy, seeing as I _will_ be on live television - even if you just see me at the front. Dasher, on the other hand, seems to be insatiable with the toy and I nearly get exhausted myself trying to calm him down. It's fine though - I don't mind because he looks so adorable it's hard not to pick up the toy and chase him around for another round.

It never fails to surprise me how much time does really fly when you're having fun and soon enough I'm at at the portion of my visit where I need to feed the puppies and kittens, say my last goodbyes before heading out to the reaping. Some of the older girls at the shelter are nice enough to explain certain customs of the reaping that perhaps I wouldn't know otherwise - like the taking of the blood. When you're younger and with your parents, you just bypass that whole area and rarely see it, so the heads up is appreciated. Back onto the topic of the shelter, though. I give the puppies and kittens some treats when I give them their breakfast, even though _technically_ I'm not allowed to but I know I like to be treated so I'm sure they appreciate it too!

It's kinda weird how the dogs and cats are so oblivious to what today means for Panem - they're all still optimistic and cute. I mean, I don't think I can talk since I'm the same but still, at least I have an idea on what's to happen over the next few weeks. Something in my stomach churns a little, as if there's a bad feeling and it's trying to foreshadow something for me and, consequently, I make sure to hug all the puppies and kittens tightly, as if to reassure myself. It's probably from where I haven't had too much to eat for breakfast, but you never know.

As I leave the shelter I make sure to wave goodbye to the workers there who bid me farewell and, as a running joke, they salute me as the Chief Cuddler. I say bye to some of the older animals, giving them some love and affection before I'm walked to the reaping with some of the older girls who volunteer at the shelter too.

* * *

 _Callaghan Rowitz, District Two Male, 18 years old_

Throwing shurikens at the various targets in the Academy is therapeutic, calming in a weird way. It's also reassuring in the sense that if you can throw a shuriken and hit a target, you pretty much can guarantee that you have some proficiency with throwing knives and axes. Some. The simulator I'm on, though set to difficult, doesn't prove to be _too_ challenging. Sure there's moments but, for the most part, I manage to score perfectly. Seeing the basically perfect score brings a small smile to my lips. Why? I plan to volunteer so I can get a glimpse of what it feels like to be relevant and not the one that stands in the corner, pining for interaction but not knowing how to get it. As a volunteer, people'll just _want_ to talk to me and they'll come to me.

I do a couple more simulations, one on the hardest difficulty and as a winding down activity, one on the easiest. However therapeutic it is, throwing shurikens gets boring easily and it's not long before I find myself sitting down in the centre of the training room just playing with them. It's somewhat dangerous to spin them since they're sharp on all edges but it's fun to watch. Sometimes, when resorting to just playing with the shurikens, I throw it in for the day and declare that my training is done but the prospect of volunteering motivates me today and it forces me up to have one more go at a simulation. I pick the hardest one again, wanting to challenge myself. Maybe it was the idleness from playing with them that caught up to me or just my mind wandering, but it proves to be more challenging which, ultimately, is a good thing. Since I am on my toes, I'm able to better my score from the simulation before and, with a victorious smile, I decide that I'll save the rest of my training until I get to the centre in the Capitol.

Needing to kill a few hours before the reaping itself begins (or at least a suitable time to enter the square), I decide to walk around the District. Reaping days are hard for me, ironic since in Two it's a time of celebration, perhaps akin to Christmas. That's why I don't like being at home during the reaping; it reminds me of Donnie. In retrospect I made mistakes when it came to how I handled his condition. I was only eleven though and I thought I knew what was best for me. He was diagnosed with ASL and to watch him deteriorate was hard for me so, to escape it, I just acted as if nothing was happening and ignoring Donnie who had otherwise been the person I was closest to. I can't imagine what it was like for him, dealing with it _and_ having his brother ignore him, but at the time I felt like I had to because it effected me so much. Things led to other things and four years later an argument ensued. Four years of pent up emotions surfaced at once and it wasn't pretty on either part and it ended with my sheer refusal to speak to him.

He tried to apologise. Multiple times, actually, and each time I ignored him. I had ignored him for four years when I was effected by it, I could go for more when I was mad. Maybe fate wasn't happy with my decision because exactly a week after the fight Donnie passed away. If I had thought his ASL had broke me then I was in a surprise for his death. It was then that I reflected on the whole thing, starting with how I made the conscious decision to ignore him. It was then more than ever I realised how much impact my actions and words really had on Donnie and my personality did a three-sixty. I became closed up, quiet and attentive rather than outspoken and boisterous like other guys my age. The overwhelming feel of guilt happened immediately and I spent many a night desperately trying to take it back, knowing it was too late. I don't speak about it to anyone because it makes me emotional - too emotional. Even just thinking about it now as I walk past the various stools I have to fight back tears.

Being the quiet one never helped anything in that situation, it didn't help me deal with anything. I just became outcasted and underestimated. Nobody bothered to try with me because I didn't want to hold conversations for extended periods of time and I never revealed much, not by talking nor my facial expressions. I'm sure if you ask people who know me who the creepiest person they know is, I'd be up there on their mental lists.

Wallowing in my thoughts never helps which is why, really, I'm grateful that the bell rings to signal everyone to head to the square to the reaping. A small, optimistic smile appears on my face as I head to the square. This year, I'll become relevant.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

If one thought that District One's square was the most joyous when it came to the Hunger Games, well, they've never seen District Two. Colourful banners decorate the square and people, even those not being reaped, come in their best attire. For District Two, the reaping is _the_ event of the year, parallel to a fancy Capitolite ball. It doesn't take long for people to swarm in after the bell rings. Whilst some districts come begrudgingly slow, District Two's population arrive with haste. Everyone wants to get a good spot, nobody wanting to be pushed into the side roads and watch from monitors. _Especially_ not this year with talks of the Academy not picking anyone in particular to represent the district. That means fair game and for once the escort'll do their job when it comes to picking a volunteer.

Speaking of the escort, the Capitolite assigned to District Two is more indicitive of the latter rather than the Capitol. He has a robust look to him and, every year, he wears a suit that has a different gem feature. This year it's a ruby theme with harsh and jagged cuts creating a shoulder accent, matching his haircut. He's no more than fifty and, regardless of his age, he definitely looks younger. There's no denying his impressive physique underneath and there's been many a time where those in the Capitol are more focused on him than the tributes. His best selling point, perhaps, is his charisma. He never fails to excite the crowd of Two and ready them for the Games.

The introductory film is treated as gospel in District Two and he capitalises on that, extending the message on further when the film ends and, as expected, everyone in Two listens with intent - eating up every single word he says. Some agree and nod their heads softly and some look as if they're so entranced by it that they weep, feeling the true spirit of the Hunger Games. The loyalty District Two has for the Capitol is untested and, if one should need a testament to it, the reaping is the best evidence anyone could have.

The escort makes a show about walking over to the bowl of female names and even goes as far to shake the bowl to make sure he has a name from the bottom. He takes the time to look at the girls as he walks back to the centre before opening the piece of paper. He clears his throat before nodding slightly.

"Sweetie Persephone!"

The cameras and those around the girl focus on a small, slightly chubby girl with dyed pink hair. Compared to some around her, her pale skin is almost out of place - just as her reaction is. Instead of making her way to the stage, she just smiles. There's a reckless abandon in her smile and it's obvious she's waiting for the mantra of those declaring they'll volunteer in her place.

"Sweetie Persephone! Please come to the stage!"

With her smile in tact, the girl skips to the stage and embodies innocence. She smiles brightly at the escort and looks out to the crowd, still obvious waiting for a volunteer to declare themselves. Whilst most realise that a volunteer won't come as the escort walks to the bowl full of male names, Sweetie doesn't seem deterred and bounces back and forth on her heels.

The escort repeats his show with the male names, picking one from the bottom. He returns to the centre of the stage, gives Sweetie a smile as she looks brightly and expectantly at him, before announcing the name.

"Mars Boulder!"

'Mars' barely gets a chance to make their identity known before an overwhelming declaration of volunteering is heard. Those around the volunteer go silent and it's clear, as the cameras pan in on them, that they don't expect said person to do such a thing. This catches the attention of the escort who picks the volunteer and invites him on stage - which the volunteer does without hesitation.

He's a clear contrast to Sweetie - tall and muscular, though not as much as the usual volunteers from Two. Regardless, it doesn't take away from his stature and he looks intimidating as is. He has a tanner skin in comparison to Sweetie, though it's still fair, much thanks to his clear Asian heritage. He's objectively attractive and many in the Capitol already mark him down as one of their favourites.

When asked for his name, he replies in a clear voice, "Callaghan Rowitz."

Nobody knows why just yet, but those his age in both gender brackets talk amongst themselves as if they're still in disbelief that he did such a thing. Nevertheless, perhaps in awe because of this, they clap with gusto.

The escort smiles as he raises his hands behind the two, "District Two, your tributes!"

Both smile as people clap, though the eagle-eyed can't help but zone in on Sweetie, wondering how she's holding up knowing that her volunteering saviour never came. The two shake hands before being escorted into the Justice Building.

As soon as the airing is over, bets are already being made about how long Sweetie'll last, how long Callaghan'll last, if he'll ally with her and protect her or if he'll be the one to kill her.

The contrast brings much excitement.

* * *

 **Ahhh sorry to everyone! I went MIA for two months because school was hectic and I wanted to get back on my feet before coming back here. Something had to go during that time and, unfortunately, it was FF :(**

 **Regardless! Here's our District Two pair!**

 **I spent more time on Sweetie's job at the animal shelter to give you a sense of her character and on Callaghan's backstory so his actions will have meanings behind them in the future. Don't worry! We'll see more of each of their personalities in the goodbyes.**

 **Thank you so much to AmericanPi and 66samvr for Sweetie and Callaghan respectively! I hope I did them justice.**

 **To everyone I owe reviews to, get ready for a big review bITCH IM COMING.**

 **As always, reviews make me happy~!**

 **\- Oli**


	5. District Three Reaping

_Rachel 'Aki' Autumn, District Three Female, 15 years old_

Perhaps if you don't live in the orphanage, reaping day _might_ be devastating. I mean, you probably have family you could lose and never see again should you get reaped and that must suck. For us in the orphanage though? It's another day and, if one of us gets reaped, it's an escape from the atrocious conditions. That's why, come reaping morning, nobody acts as if it's something special. Yesterday I heard the girls at school talk about how their families were going to have big breakfasts and that they'd wear some of their mothers' jewellery and wear the nicest dresses they own. Here, in the orphanage, we're lucky if we get anything more than usual and most of us attend the reaping in our regular clothes.

Being in the orphanage on reaping morning basically means you have the time free until the bell rings throughout the district and we have to go to the Justice Building. Some use the time to eat more than they usually would, others use it to get some extra work in and other's explore. I decide to stay in my bed and read an old history book from before The Dark Days. It speaks of a far off land comprised mostly of islands. It alludes that those with an epicanthal fold eye shape, such as myself, have a high chance of being descended from this island country or, at least, the countries beside it. This country had a language completely different from the one we use in Panem and it's where I got my nickname from; Aki. The books says it means 'born in Autumn,' fitting because my last name is Autumn _and_ that's the season I was born in.

Nobody calls me Aki, though. Why? Most of the people in the orphanage are too scared of me; not that I care. I've got a reputation for being sadistic and barbaric. I analyse a lot and I think that's what makes people afraid of me. I mean, if you saw a girl just staring at you who had a renowned history of a love for inflicting pain and just in general being impatient, wouldn't you be scared? I suppose, really, if I ever got into the Games it'd give me the edge over some of the other non-Careers.

Although we're allowed to do what we want on reaping morning, the people working there prefer it when we're not shut away in our rooms. Perhaps it worries them that we're going to do something life threatening if we're desperate enough but, trust me, practically all of us would jump at the chance to go to the Capitol for the good food - at least we'd die eating the best food of our lives. Despite the workers leaving me alone usually, I still need to disguise the book about the old country. The cover of the book has long faded and that lets me lie about it's content. To the first worker that asks, I'm reading about computer programming, alluding that I'm preparing for my future beyond the home. To the second I say it's an old book I used to read to calm me down and she leaves me alone. She's the pushover one anyway; I could've told her exactly what it was and she'd just smile, nod and leave me be. To the final one, the unofficial head of the workers, I tell her it's a book about nature, specifically which wild berries are edible or not.

"Anticipating volunteering?" She asks me, arms crossed. I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't believe me - I've lied to her enough times - but she doesn't let on if she doesn't.

I shake my head, "That's suicide."

She looks me up and down once, earning a scowl from me, before leaving me be. I grumble as I flip the page and enter my favourite chapter - the one about the weapons they used to use back in the country. Weapons fascinate me to no end and half the time I'm sure I was born in the wrong District...

* * *

 _Bradley 'Brad' Cooper, District Three Male, 16 years old_

In hindsight, maybe I should've have stayed up all night the night before the reaping, mostly because now I'm tired. I stifle a yawn as I finish the last page of the dystopian novel I've been reading. It was a decent read, though the protagonist often let love and attachments cloud his decisions and ended with him leading a life that was half of what he could've led. Some of his mistakes could be forgiven; one such mistake that ended up killing off half of those close to him was that he mistook an edible plant for a poisonous one and walked past it, causing those close to him to die from starvation. From the way the author described it the only difference was that the edible one was more cream in colour compared to the white of the poisonous one. It was forgivable, only because the protagonist was said to have difficulty with distinguishing such similar colours. Other faux pas he made like trusting someone who _claimed_ to have changed despite showing no evidence of such change were ones I cannot even fathom making myself. He was a walking death sentence to anyone who got close to him. The way the novel ends hints towards a continuation of the series, perhaps a final novel? I go to theorise what it could entail before I look in the direction of my window and see the summer sun shining through. The repercussions of my decision to stay up all night truly hit me and I yawn as I force myself out of bed. I get changed into the clothes I chose last night; they look smart, so much so that if it were a video game, nobody would question if I was part of an elite class of people.

I take leave to the living room and sit on the sofa to contemplate the next novel there. There's not much else the author can do with the fictional world so I suspect it'll be the last in the series. If it'd be anything interesting, the protagonist'll perish in revenge for all those he led to death. That and the protagonists rarely ever die, might as well spice it up a little bit. I theorise for a couple more minutes, thinking of every possible story from them rebuilding the world to it's former glory to everything crashing and the series ending on a slaughter of deaths. Cleverly, the author's done it in such a way to allow either possibility but really it all depends on what the protagonist decides to do, however dumb and nonsensical his decision is.

It's not long after I come downstairs that my mother brings me a cup of hot chocolate, a treat that pretty much only happens on reaping day.

"You shouldn't have stayed up all night again," she reprimands with a small sigh, "At least you're ready; try to stay awake throughout the reaping."

A small smile plays on my lips as she disappears back into the kitchen and I take this time of peace to reply to some of the chats my fans have sent me. To the rest of Panem I am known under the gamer tag 'unkn0wn' but, like the name suggests, nobody knows it's me. A fascination with video games made here in Three turned into me playing them and given my father's job as a Peacekeeper, I was able to do it comfortably and I gained a mass following. The chats I respond to are the usual questions; what set up I'm using, what game is currently my favourite and when will I stream again. The standard questions, really. I'm able to answer them fairly quickly and then take a few seconds to look at the various fan-art people send me. The majority of them are familiar game settings with my avatar inside in various situations. It's heartwarming and humbling, really, and I make a note to stream tonight when I come from the reaping.

I look up to see my father emerging from the kitchen clad in his uniform, a piece of toast hanging from his mouth. He's not late by any means but he likes to be extremely early. He nods and smiles to me, wishing me luck for today before shouting a 'See you later!' throughout the house for my mother and sister to hear. From the kitchen I hear a gargling sound which is probably my sister, Stella, trying to shout a goodbye back with her toothbrush in her mouth. It's followed quickly by a "Stella! _What_ have I told you about trying to speak with your toothbrush in your mouth?"

After Stella spits the water out of her mouth we're called for breakfast. The breakfast, as always on reaping day, is fancier than what we'd usually have. It's a buffet style with toast, beans, eggs, hash, bacon - the lot. As my mother would say; "Well, if you're going to be reaped I want you going there with good food in your stomach." Stella and I protest that we'd have good food in our stomach anyway since our mother has an affinity when it comes to cooking, but we get the meaning behind her words. Albeit never long, the reaping day breakfast is always nice and ends with our mother giving us words of encouragement for the day ahead. You can tell by the way she talks she's half glad she's no longer in our position but at the same time mortified that her kids are.

It's not long after breakfast that Stella is picked up by her friends, them all laughing about an inside joke or something. She tells our mother than she'll wait by the candy store in the main square after the reaping is done for her, to which my mother acknowledges and wishes her luck.

I leave a little while after her and make sure I take the most efficient route to the square; we all have to go through this today so there's no use in stalling it. Before I leave, I make sure my smart gadgets - watch, glasses and phone - are all fully charge before taking off. I always seem to forget _how_ efficient the route I take is because, despite leaving before me, I make it to the Justice Building before my sister and her friends do.

After all the mandatory sign up measures, I wait with my age group and begin to read the next novel in the dystopian series on my phone before the reaping starts.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

It's always a bit of a mood dampener when we come to District Three in the televised reapings; going from One and Two where the Games are celebrated to Three where there's a murmur of discontent is rather mood breaking. Although the reapees wear their best clothes, there's hardly any bright colours. To One, Two and Four's fashion parade of best dress at the reapings, Three looks as if they're attending a slightly more colourful funeral. It's apt, really; no tribute from District Three has made it to the final three in at _least_ five years. They have a reason to look depressed.

Whilst those in One and Two hate being in the side roads, it seems as if those in Three _want_ to be there, to be as far away from the main event as possible. Everything they do points to them not wanting to be there and, subsequently, those in the Capitol rarely have time for District Three tributes unless they prove themselves in the Games.

The escort, a plump middle-aged man with an attempt at a charming peppered hair look, does his best to rally the crowd; his Capitolite accent rings loud and clear through the speakers as he makes jokes and tries to make the situation a little more light hearted. He's met, unsurprisingly, with a solemn crowd who don't appear to be paying attention to whatever he says. The reapees look at him with blank eyes, clearly not taking in whatever he's saying. I don't blame them, even for Capitolite standards he's annoying and one can only pray for the two in the crowd that'll be stuck with him for the next week or so.

The crowd remains solemn as they watch the film, it evoking no emotion from them. There's no cheers when it's done, no tears as it plays and nobody mouthing the words. Everybody, reapees and citizens alike, watch the screens with no reaction. They've seen it all before and, because they feel like they haven't benefited from the Capitol's benevolence, they aren't as moved by the words as those from the Career districts are. People from Three see through the lies and, quite honestly, they just want to know which two they'll be mourning for this year.

The mayor's speech is nothing notable; it's the same every year with the slight adaptations to reflect the Games before and how the tributes died honourably, even if they died in the Bloodbath. One can only suppose that, after years of watching your citizens go off to die without being able to do anything, you become desensitised.

As soon as he's given his cue, the escort leaps into action and makes the reaping into a game. He walks camply and flamboyantly to the bowl of female names, chuckles and 'hmmmm's and 'oooooooh's sound through the speakers until he picks a name. As he walks back to the centre stage, he cradles it like a newborn baby. Most in Three chuckle at his ridiculousness whilst others groan at having the _worst_ escort going.

He clears his throat in the same flamboyant manner before booming, "Rachel Autumn!"

Usually in District Three the name has to be repeated a few times as many are shocked that they have been chosen, but not Rachel. She _skips_ to the stage with a bright smile on her face, as if this is the chance she's been waiting for all her life. It's an abnormal sight and that does have the Capitolites watching interested; is she perhaps the token non-Career district Career? Will she surprise everyone and come out as the winner? There's a window of possibilities as this tall, thin girl with an innocent face thanks to her epicanthal folded eyes, skips to the stage.

She smiles at the escort who practically _squeals_ in delight at her attitude. The announcement of "Its the boys now!" is all the nation needs to see him repeat his flamboyant act.

Like before, he clears his throat before reading the name. "Bradley Cooper!"

The male tribute's reaction to being reaped is much more normal for District Three. In a cooing voice, the escort repeats the name a few more times before Bradley emerges into the aisle and makes his way to the stage. Unlike Rachel, he's extremely average. Whether or not that's down to his lack of enthusiasm as he walks to the stage is debatable, but there's nothing that sticks out about him. Perhaps his messy black hair or wiry build? Who knows.

By the time he gets to the stage, however, his eyes appear to have glazed over slightly and many immediately place this as him blocking out all emotions. Capitolites watching are disappointed; they invested interest in him for the prospect of having another anomaly tribute like Rachel but, unfortunately, they're met with an average tribute from Three.

When the two shake hands on the instruction of the escort, their differences become clear. They both look determined, but for different reasons. Bradley looks determined to suppress his emotions and, more than likely, come back home whilst Rachel just looks determined to cause as _much_ damage as she can.

Two tributes at opposite ends of the scale, the Capitolites'll keep an eye on Three from the get go this year.

* * *

 **District Three! B)**

 **I actually really like this pair, they're so different so I can't wait to see their dynamic! Both are intelligent, but different kinds of intelligent and definitely have different motives.**

 **I only now realise that Bradley has a much more detailed reaping morning than Rachel but that's okay! So far I think I have a plan for Rachel to have a bigger role in the training stage of the Games (and, ofc, the Games themselves!).**

 **Thank you to Blade Is My Penname for Bradley and luluthefox for Bradley and Rachel respectively, I hope I wrote them well!**

 **If any of you haven't seen, I have another SYOT out (The 125th Hunger Games) and I am in need of tributes! Submit some but do make sure to read the chapter first!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	6. District Four Reaping

_Caspia Sinclair, District Four Female, 18 years old_

A lot of girls in my position would be overconfident, boasting about their achievement. The fight to be the designated volunteer is a tough one; we have to go through loads of rounds of fighting one another to determine who the best tribute is. Most girls train a large chunk of their lives only to be beaten by someone else and told that they won't be the volunteer. It's sad, really, which is why I'm even more humble that I've been chosen to represent District Four this year. I _am_ glad I'm in this position, though; just the thought of being envious of someone else for stealing my spot makes me annoyed. That and I don't know how I'd handle not winning, _especially_ when I more than likely would deserve to. There is still the chance that someone might steal my spot as volunteering over my volunteer, but I know I'll make sure that won't happen.

As the designated volunteer I'm allowed in the academy to train the morning of the reaping. Beyond it being the final chance to get some training on our own before we have to train with the other tributes, it's a way for our muscles to look their biggest and most intimidating when we're at the reaping. It's more for the other Career districts to show them their competition but a little intimidation towards the other Districts never hurt District Four in the past.

My friends tell me I'd be a good Career; I can use my weapons well but I'm so inherently _nice_ that it won't take much for me to be trusted by the other tributes and kill that way. Some of those with the judgemental personalities joke that I'll need it since I'm average looking at best, apparently, but I don't let it get to me (or at least, I try not to). My mother thinks I have a shot at winning the Games and that, seeing as she is such a harsh woman who's pushed me to train since I was young, is a compliment and I know I must be good to gain that from her.

As I said, I'm allowed time in the academy before the reaping to train and that's exactly what I do. I brought my reaping clothes with me so I can train until the last possible second and I made sure to have a hearty breakfast before leaving. Although a small voice in my head tells me to train with a broadsword first, I decide to do some athletic training after doing weights and such and leave sword practice till the end. I'm tall with long limbs so making sure I have it all under control when I run is a must for me. It's not exactly an Achilles heel for me but it's proven difficult enough for me to at least want to have it all in check.

Walking over to the simulation, I pick the toughest setting. _Always assume the worst_ , that's something my mother drilled into my head when I first got into training, _you never know what the Gamemakers'll throw at you_. It's an obvious statement for the Games but, at the same time, one that always seems to be forgotten. With the simulation created, I pull my hair back into a ponytail before running. As I said, running isn't a big issue for me but naturally as someone taller _with_ the longer limbs, I just need to make sure nothing's flailing where it shouldn't; I'd hate for the way I die to be because someone was able to grab a flailing limb. I clear it in no time and the performance meter shows I've performed nothing short of stellar and I'm content.

I look at the clock. An hour before I have to go. With a quick contemplation in my head, I give myself fifteen minutes to fight in the sword simulation before taking a shower and getting ready for when I volunteer. Like the athletic simulation, I pick the hardest setting and ready my favourite training sword. Within seconds orange figures appear and charge at me from all directions. Unsurprisingly, I cut them all down with ease and it truly affirms as to why I've been chosen to represent the district. I set the wave number to be five and, subsequently, more and more orange figures emerge from thin air to battle me. A couple snag my arms but it's inevitable; any Career who thinks they're going to go through the Games unscathed is too optimistic and _will_ fall, basic intelligence tells us that.

At the end of the fifteen minutes I look at my performance rating. Stellar. I smile as a run a hand through my hair, putting the sword back in it's place and taking off for the showers.

* * *

 _Joel Thomas, District Four Male, 18 years old_

Most people on reaping days take the time to relax but not me. Nope, I'm on the beaches of District Four running. It's oddly serene at the early hours of the morning training but that's what's needed of the designated volunteer; if we're not dedicated, how can we expect to win for our District? I say I'm the designated male volunteer but really it's Cassian; a boy who once bullied me but now I can hold my own against. In a few hours I'll be on my way to the academy to fight against him in front of all our trainers to determine who'll represent the district. I plan to beat him and take his place and come home a victor.

After running for an hour or so, I notice that the fishing ships are returning from the harbour. Like I usually do, when they get close enough I swim out to them and help anchor them in. From my time aboard the Capitol cruise ship my parents run I know how hard it can be to dock sometimes so whenever I can help the fishermen with it, I do. From the small talk we have most of them know that I plan to challenge for the volunteer position today and they wish me luck, telling me if I'm half as good at fighting as I am with pulling in boats, that I'll have no trouble winning the spot from Cassian.

I don't stick around on the beaches for too long afterwards, opting to go home and refill some energy before heading out to the academy. At home, I make sure that all of my reaping clothes are ready to go and I check the time. In a couple of minutes I can call my parents so to pass the time, and to refill my energy, I eat a couple of protein bars. Since these are the good ones from the Capitol, I feel rejuvenated quickly and after throwing the wrappers in the bin, I pick up the phone and dial the number I know off by heart.

"Hi honey, you okay?" My mother's voice is the first one I hear and I smile. Although I might not be as close as I could be with my parents since they're always out on the cruise ship, I still get slightly giddy when I get the chance to speak to them.

In the background I hear a muffled, gruffer voice and I can only assume it's my father trying to shout something which draws a laugh from my mother. I can hear my father's voice clearer, meaning my mother must've taken the phone to him.

"Yeah I'm good," I reply, doubling over everything in the mini backpack I'm taking with me to the academy, "I'm just about to head off to the academy to challenge Cassian."

"We know you'll do it," My father says and I can hear the pride in his voice. My mother agrees with a hum and I don't need to hear much more to know she's just as proud.

The rest of our conversation diverts to how life is on the cruise ship and if I've kept the house in a good condition. There's small jokes and general chitchat before my mother nudges it to the end.

"Well I suppose you'll be wanting to head off to the academy? Best of luck Joel, we love you!"

I smile again, "I love you too."

And with that, the conversation ends.

I decide to get down to the academy a little earlier than the contest is meant to take place, mostly to utilise the facilities before. Although I'm one who'd assess the situation before committing to something like most Career tributes, I'm also know that actual proficiency with a weapon is needed. I train with my sword, Riptide, until I'm called to face Cassian. Just by the look on his face I can tell that he has no intention on being beaten but that's where he's out of luck; _I_ have no intention on being beaten and it takes ten times of us sparring for the trainers to renounce him being this year's volunteer and that I'll take his place.

I can only smile as the look on his face is every bit of devastated and I realise this is a better revenge as ever.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

Reaping's in District Four are always the most relaxed, more than likely due to the sound of the distant crashing waves or the seagulls that can be heard here and there. The Justice Building looks like an extravagant sand castle brought to life and it's nothing short of magnificent. Whatever District Four lacks in strict loyalty to the Capitol compared to the other Career Districts, they make up in having an aesthetic that rivals District One's.

Nobody would guess that out of the three Career Districts that District Four had a wavering loyalty to the Capitol; the square in front of the Justice Building is packed to the brim with people outpouring into the streets around it. Attendance _is_ mandatory, yes, but there's always a difference when people crane to see on monitors or in the square itself.

The escort for District Four is a fairly new one, a bright and bubbly woman who's hair always seems to be marine inspired. This year her hair is an aqua colour with a head piece made from shells. She very much looks like a District Four turned Capitolite citizen and that's the vibe she's clearly trying to go for, achieving it with ease. It's not easy for people to start their escorting careers on a Career District so that means she must've shown an exceptional amount of promise and it shows; the way she commands the crowd's attention is nothing short of intriguing. Although everybody knows the Career Districts choose their tributes in advance, she makes it believable that she picks them there and then and doesn't use a small earpiece to find who she should be choosing.

With her eyes closed during the Capitol film to looking at the mayor with intent in her eyes as he does his speech, the escort is quickly making a name for herself in the Capitol. It wouldn't be surprising if she got her own spread on a magazine or newspaper sometime in the future.

Even the way she walks to the bowls of names is captivating. She does it gracefully and misses all the extra, unnecessary dramatic flair some escorts try to do. She knows she's the master of the crowd (and Panem, for that matter) for the next chunk of time and she commands it all with ease.

"Lagune Kingsrock!"

The name she calls once she returns tot he centre of the stage belongs to a fourteen-year-old girl who, for any other District, would look like a strong contender but she waits in the middle of the aisle for the onslaught of screams behind her and, sure enough, it's not long after she stops that the older girls pray they'll get picked over the desginated volunteer. The escort feigns a search, eyeing up some hopefuls which causes them to scream louder, before picking the intended girl; a tall girl with long brown hair, pale skin that appears slightly reddened due to the hot sun. As the cameras pan to her, the freckles that dust her face are seen more clearly, as are her brown eyes. Whilst she might not be the prettiest objectively, there's room for the stylists to do their magic.

"And what's your name dear?" The escort asks as the volunteer stands beside her, the size difference between the two amusing.

"Caspia Sinclair."

The escort claps and flashes Caspia a smile before walking to the male bowl and picking a name at random.

"Trident Seafoam!"

A small boy from the twelve-year-old's section walks out nervously. It's obvious the Career mindset hasn't hit him yet and that he's forgotten through his nerves that someone'll come save him. The shouts of volunteering causes the boy to stand still before the Peacekeepers escort him back to his place in the reapee crowd. It'd never be picked up on that the designated male volunteer had changed only minutes before the reaping; the way the escort handles it is nothing short of extremely professional and she picks the new volunteer with ease.

As he walks down the aisle and the cameras pan in on him, it's obvious that District Four has two tall tributes this year. The male tribute looks nothing short of a poser surfer boy with his leaner body, sea green eyes and defined biceps and whilst attractive, the stylists in the Capitol can definitely do something to accentuate it more. He takes his place beside the escort and she asks his name.

"Joel Thomas."

The escort claps her hands and orders the two tributes to shake hands. The two do so and the District erupts into cheer; both tributes have potential to bring District Four a win and that is more that they can ask for. Their cheers can still be heard as the tributes are ushered inside of the Justice Building.

* * *

 **And here's our District Four pair! In actual HG-Canon Finnick won the 65th Games so writing this chapter was fun!**

 **Thank you to paperairline and Blade Is My Penname for Caspia and Joel respectively! Whilst both have unconventional Career traits, both are so different and it seems the Career pack's gonna be varied this year!**

 **ALSO! After seeing a few reviews about the Peacekeeper children thing, I went onto the HG Wiki (aka the closest thing we have bar the books and Suzanne to answer our questions) and it says that Peacekeepers have to serve 20 years marriageless and child-free. The way it's phrase suggests that, once this period is over, children and marriages can be permitted, presumably because their loyalty's been proven? I take it like that which is why, if I accept a Peacekeeper's child, they're there! I just wanted to clear that up (also it piqued my curiosity too so)**

 **But! Onto District Five! I'm off for three weeks for Easter so I hope to at least get this story up to the Capitol and the 100th HG to the Games themselves? Optimistically speaking, of course.**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	7. District Five Reaping

_Dayley "Day" Casner, District Five Female, 14 years old_

I've always been told I'm mature for my age; teachers tell me, those in shops tell me - anyone who's older than me tells me it, really. It's a plus, really. Some people at school tell me I'm what everyone wants to be; laid-back but confident, finding it easy to talk to adults, calm and hard to annoy and, perhaps most envied, still loving the sense of adventure and discovering new experiences.

My love for new experiences is how I met my friends Boyd and Janetta. I thought it'd be an interesting experience to be friends with those older than me, especially when said friends ended up being in a relationship; that made the experience more interesting. Our trio is quite interesting in itself; you've got me being, well, me; Boyd who's the most heartless person ever with a niche for conspiracy theories and Janetta who's pretty much guaranteed a great future because she's so smart. We're both calm so we get along fine.

Usually I'd spend the reaping morning with my family, listening to my brother Varen talk about something that should be accepted that's not - he's very open-minded and loves nothing more than to let people know about the injustices in Panem. A typical reaping day might be that Varen and I go out to one of the few stores open and buy some warm bread and come back to a decent breakfast. We'd talk with out family about whatever topic one of us can come up with and then we'd all get ready for the reaping and go. Mundane, but comforting and relaxing all the same - a needed thing on the reaping day.

Today I spend it with Boyd and Janetta instead; it's Boyd's final reaping so we all wanted to celebrate at his house. Our celebration is nothing more than us hanging out as normal just with some reaping day treats like cakes and warm buns.

"Are you excited not to have to be in the reaping pool next year?" Janetta asks as we sit in a triangle, eating the foods we got. It's just as calm and relaxed as it would be if I was at home which I appreciate.

"Definitely," Boyd replies before taking a bite from a roll. He chews and swallows before grinning, "But! Conspiracy theory, what if _I'm_ the only one staying on in place of one of you?"

Janetta and I groan in sync, understanding fully that he's joking with another one of his playful theories, the ones that have the sole purpose of making us laugh when he feels like we need it. He can probably tell that, no matter how calm Janetta and I are and how we've made no mention or clue to any discomfort, seeing him go through the other end unscathed whilst we have to go through it again isn't something to be excited about. I guess that's the other edge to the sword when it comes to this celebration.

We spend the rest of the morning eating the rest of the foods and passing jokes with one another, trying to make the time go by. As it gets closer and closer to the reaping time, no matter how calm we all are, none of us actively want to go - we'd be fine here for the rest of the day.

As we leave the house to get to the Justice Building as the whistle blows, I give my appearance a once over in the mirror before heading out, optimistically hoping we can come back here afterwards.

* * *

 _Shia Faldarie, District Five Male, 16 years old_

I've lived on the streets for about a year now. Why? Well, I've been kicked out of the District Orphanage twice, been sent back to the orphanage about five times. Oh - and I burnt down the two houses of the two families who got close to adopting me. What can I say? I have a bad streak. When I first resigned to living on the streets I was angry about it and planned to be stubborn and force my way back into the orphanage and refuse to leave but, the more i gave it thought, the more I decided it was for the better. I'm somewhat obsessed with fire, y'see - pyromania? I think - and it's why I've been kicked out of so many places. My fascination with fire is the cause of the two fires so it's no wonder people see me as a liability. It's fine though, living on the streets gives me the freedom to start as many fires in garbage cans as I want.

Somebody once asked me what my obsession with fire was caused by and I never told them. That's the thing about me; I can take something to the grave if I feel like it. I have no doubt that people would be understanding but I don't think it's something that needs to be discussed. When I was young my family and I were involved in a fire which claimed the lives of both of my parents. That fire was the cause of me ending up in the orphanage and how my truancy began (according to some) and is the root of my pyromania. As I said, it's an understandable reason but a personal one at that.

It's the same freedom of burning garbage that makes reaping day more interesting; I don't have anybody else's rules to live by. I can do things as I want them and when I want them. I'm no idiot though; I always make sure I have one set of clothes kept clean and proper for the reaping. The last thing I need, if I'm reaped, is for people to be preemptively judging me. I might be scrappy but I can be scrappy and still look good.

This morning I spend the time rummaging through garbage to have a somewhat decent of a meal. My best friend, Dynamo, helps me with the search. He's a little rebellious like I am and he views me as the little brother he's never had - he always has my back and I know that I can count on him.

There's a part in the market of Five that is where all the unwanted scraps of the past few days end up; the ends of bread loaves that nobody wanted, fruit and vegetables that didn't look good enough to buy and, sometimes, confectionery that's thrown out for some reason or another. As always, we head there and we're greeted with success. There's warm loaves, presumably thrown out because the reaping looms above us. Likewise, there's fairly fresh fruit and vegetables that would be thrown out otherwise and, perhaps the icing on top of the metaphorical cake, there's an extravagant loaf of banana bread.

"Looks like it's come from the Capitol," Dynamo comments, picking it up and scraping off some onion peel that's stuck to the bottom.

I nod in agreement and we both move to scoop up the various finds, trying to fit them into the small bags we have.

"Oi!" A shrill voice from our side shouts and in my side view I can see a plump woman running towards us with a torch, "Get _out_ of here! No good kids! I ought to call the Peacekeepers on you!"

I don't know what Dynamo does but I drop all the food I collected to watch the fire in her torch. It's fascinating, the way it moves and how it emits heat and light. So much was built on fire but so much can be torn down by it. _That's_ why it fascinates me.

Dynamo yells something as he picks up a few food scraps before, quite literally, dragging me away. The woman continues to chase us until we've cleared the little market area. Once free, Dynamo runs a hand through his hair as he exhales, probably glad we didn't have the Peacekeepers called on us.

"Let's go," He says, letting go of my wrist and walking back in the direction of the alleyway I've made home, "We might as well have _something_ before the reapings begin."

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

Reapings in District Five is a rather uneventful event. There's not as much enthusiasm as there is in Districts One, Two and Four but neither is there the discontent for the Games as seen in Three, Eleven and Twelve. District Five, like District Seven, is a middle ground. Some can celebrate it, most choose not to. A tribute from Five can be just as dangerous was one from a Career district, same with Seven. Many have said, should there be a fourth Career District, Five or Seven would be the biggest contenders. A popular choice in the Capitol when this question arises is Five; the Careers need more brains, not brawn.

Whilst the citizens of District Five don't _crane_ to see the reaping itself, they don't want to be so far away they feel like they can't be a part of the district solidarity. For Five, interest in the reaping is a middle ground, an opportunity for the district to come together in the time of need.

The escort for District Five hasn't changed for about ten years now. He's a small man who seemingly never ages. He's handsome enough where women, Capitolites and District citizens alike, gawk at him instead of listening to what he has to say. Ironically, the camera always pans to women focusing more on him than his speech about how the Games have united Panem and what the Capitol offers for the Districts. It's a small bit of humour that breaks up the intensity of the reapings.

The film looked at, but barely watched. As always, the mood in District Five screams 'get to it, stop prolonging the inevitable.' The mayor knows this and she makes her speech short and sweet. To mention all the victors is a big long because Five boasts a decent number (in comparison to other Districts, at least) but she gets there and nods for the escort to reap the names.

Without announcement, since there's no need for it, he walks to the female bowl of names and picks one at random, somewhere from the middle of the bowl.

"Dayley Casner!" He booms after clearing his throat, smiling down at the reapees for Dayley to show her face.

A small girl comes from the fourteen-year-olds section, looking younger than she actually is. Her face is acute whilst her ears stick out slightly through her honey-coloured hair that ends at her chin. Her hazel eyes scream innocence but, curiously, also amazement. Her face shows little emotion but most don't when they're reaped. A solemn face is all they can manage so the fact that she's able to communicate _something_ through her eyes is an achievement - gives her mentors something to work with. That is, until a few tears roll down her face. Nobody blames her; fourteen-year-old's rarely make it home and even then they're lucky to make the Feast.

She takes her place beside the escort, wiping her eyes slightly as he moves on to find out her district partner.

"Shia Faldarie!" He shouts again with the same tone, waiting for Shia to reveal himself.

A small boy from the sixteen-year-old's section walks out and, despite his size, people stare and move out of his way and it shows that they're afraid of him for some reason. He scowls at them anyway and continues to walk down the aisle to the stage. His shoulders are hunched and it looks, bar the glares and scowls, that he's sulking almost. It's not a good look to present to the rest of Panem but if that's what he feels then you might as well show it early. A smile he does shoot to someone in the reapee pool makes him look feral, wolfish. His dark brown hair looks unkempt and messy, though there is a visible attempt to tame it. His honey colour eyes don't scream innocence like Dayley's. Instead, they just glare.

The two shake hands, it being amusing to some of how much taller Dayley is in comparison to Shia, she herself being considered a smaller tribute. There's nothing between their interaction to suggest how they'll be in the Games, so many theorise what could happen as they're led into the Justice Building.

* * *

 **We're almost halfway there!**

 **We're getting there... eventually. If I keep on updating like I have the past couple of days, we should be there in no time!**

 **Thank you to MessyModgePodge for both of these tributes, I hope I did them justice!**

 **I'd say both of these tributes are more story-setting oriented, mostly so we can see how distinct and different their personalities are from one another - the Goodbyes and Train Rides will definitely yield more to their characters!  
**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	8. District Six Reaping

_Marlee Chasner, District Six Female, 17 years old_

The reaping's have never been the same since my father died. Mornings filled with sweet words of encouragement, small games to keep me occupied as I went and watched as two people were essentially sent to their deaths had died when he did. For the last year, and this one, the reaping days have been filled with work.

I was only fifteen when my father died. Nobody knew what happen to him but I've always had the suspicion that my mother did something so her son, my younger half-brother born of an affair, could inherit my father's business. Chasner Industries was his pride and joy, a thing passed down through the family for generations. Usually it went to the eldest son but I guess he must've known that Jack was never a full Chasner and I was named as the inheritor. In fact, I'm sure that because Chanser Industries has a reputation of being a small, homely and reliable business, I was permitted to live in a house by myself despite being fifteen. The Peacekeepers were always a little more lenient in Six, especially when it came to the business that would always fix whatever they needed no matter how many times they broke them.

As I said, work's dominated my reaping mornings ever since my father died. I'm determined to have it live on in _full_ Chasner hands. It's Chasner Industries, not Futon-Chasner Industries. Besides, my father made the company and reliable place to go to and I myself have a reputation for being maturer beyond my age as well as repair skills that rival my father's, so work coming first is a priority that I consciously choose to uphold, even if I'm also known for hating small talk and not smiling often.

Which brings me to now. I'm working on a customer's engine; he was a regular customer of my father's and thus I know his business is imperative - even if his small talk is boring and, quite frankly, exhausting. I know he doesn't _mean_ to distract me from my work, but the questions he asks are always just that; distracting.

"Is it your last reaping?" He asks me as I work hard on his engine, remembering the tricks my father had done as well as what I've read in the books he left.

"Second to last," I mumble, hoping my answer would silence him whilst I got through one of the more stressful parts of this particular repair but, just as my luck would have it, he doesn't relent.

"Ah, are you excited or nervous?"

I shrug, not answering his question and instead choosing to immerse myself further into my work. I hope he gets the hint but, as always, he carries on.

"I remember my last reaping - I couldn't _wait_ to get it over and done with."

I hum here and there in time of what I _think_ is him talking; I wouldn't know considering I'm trying to do my job right. I'm sure at the end of the day he'd rather have the job done right with little conversation than a shoddy job with a lot of talking.

It isn't until he asks me when I'm getting ready for the reaping that I stand up and muster the best smile I can at him.

"Right now," I say, running a hand scarcely through my hair to make sure I don't get any oil or grease in it, "I'll need to order in the parts to continue this tomorrow, if that's okay."

He nods and smiles in gratitude, "They say good things are worth the wait."

I continue to smile until he leaves, immediately going to the catalogue and making a note to order the various parts I need to finish the job. Before going into the house to get ready I give myself a once over in the mirror, cursing myself for wiping my forehead and leaving an oil mark across it.

* * *

 _Hawker Boeing, District Six Male, 17 years old_

Reaping's are always a little weirder in District Six. There's been accounts from victors that other tributes always talk about how they spent the morning with their parents, usually having some deep meal and hope that it's not the last time they're able to do so. That _might_ happen in Six, but really more people care about morphling. That's the deal with our family. We're divided in two; my mother and father are involved heavily in the morphling addiction business in Six, being among the most prolific dealers out there whilst myself and my older brother, Jaguar, live together away from them.

It's not a bad setup; Jaguar and I don't need anybody else but each other - as long as we have the other we'll be okay.

Reaping mornings are always oddly fun. We usually invite my best friend Felix over and spend the morning playing a few card games whilst eating some of the nicer food Jaguar receives as part of his hovercraft pilot training regime. He doesn't receive a lot of food but it's usually the decadent stuff from the Captiol; probably to get him used to it so when he goes to live there as a pilot he'll be used to it.

"Only two more years and you guys'll be free from it all," He says as he bites down on an elaborate looking pie, "There's such a freedom getting past it."

Felix and I look at each other before nodding. "Yeah I can't wait," Felix says, shuffling his cards and flashing a smile at Jaguar, "So close but so far away."

"Ain't that right?" I say in agreement and we all laugh airily. The great thing about us three is that we don't need jokes to be pulled to have a good time; we calm one another and give a level of security and amusement that we wouldn't get otherwise. Saying that, no matter how calm we make each other, nothing can take away from the impending reaping.

Felix and I are ready hours in advance and the process of eating breakfast together and playing card games is just a way to waste the time before we have to go to the Justice Building. Some reaping mornings are quicker than others, it all depends on how much you're dreading it. This year, Felix and I have decided we're a seven on a scale of ten; ten dreading it the most. We've joked that, knowing one of our lucks, one of us would be reaped. I'd like to think there's an unofficial pact between us that, if one of us did get reaped, we'd give the best advice we could during the goodbyes.

We finish the game we're playing rather quickly, handing the cards back to Jaguar. He looks at us once, twice before grinning.

"One more game before the whistle goes?"

Felix and I look at each other before nodding and smiling; might as well - it beats standing outside the Justice Building and waiting for the inevitable.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

District Six is always such an unsightly district to view the reapings of. Much like Three, District Six has large chimneys that billow smoke, taking away from the beauty of Panem. It's a necessary thing to ensure such high quality travel, but it's always at the expense of impressions of the District. Besides, Panem already has _enough_ to look at with the morphling addicts who stare aimlessly at the screens and the reapees. You can always tell when people are staring and not taking it in and those who stare aimlessly without another thought in their head. It's such a contrast to see the reapees who, for the most part, haven't succumbed to the addiction yet, and those who've had years addicted to the painkiller. It's haunting, more the reason why Six isn't seen as highly as other districts.

Their escort is a military man, coming from a long line of high up commanders in the Capitol. District rumour is that his grandfather was the one who led the Capitol to victory and was the one who nudged the president into deciding that Thirteen should be obliterated. Needless to say the way he conducts the reapings is regimented, perhaps something needed in a District where nobody _really_ knows what's going on.

The way he does his speech sounds as if it's intended as a pep talk but comes across as orders being barked at. Some of the younger reapees cower together whilst some of the older ones roll their eyes. No doubt the next school day he'll be made fun of for the way he talks to them.

As usual, people look at him but don't pay attention. Though, to be fair, those from Six barely pay attention to anyone. The only time interest is piqued, especially for the non-reapees, is when the two names are chosen and thus it's no surprise that when the escort marches to the female bowl without announcing it, the square goes quiet and people wait on bated breath.

"The female tribute for District Six in the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games is," He barks as he breaks the black seal, "Marlee Chasner!"

A decently tall girl emerges from the seventeen-year-old's section, her brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She's decently tanned and has cold, hazel eyes. The camera pans as she stomps to the stage with her fists clenched. Clearly being reaped has made her more angry than being upset, not that her expressionless face would allude to any single emotion. She takes her place by the escort and refuses to look at him, eliciting a glare from him before he goes and chooses the male tribute, marching in a similar fashion.

"And the male tribute for District Six in the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games is - Hawker Boeing!"

Another from the seventeen-year-old's section, Hawker walks down the aisle with visible shock on his face. He looks to be quite tall but his thinness might add to the illusion. Whilst Marlee had a muted brown hair, Hawker dons a more striking reddish-brown colour with grey eyes that look around in fear. Whatever nervousness he shows is only further emphasised with the image of his district partner stomping her way up whilst he walks and takes his time.

It's clear that the escort isn't as satisfied as he could be with the two tributes as he lazily presents them to the District. Whether that's because he knows that the morphling addicts won't care and will only bet to try and get more money to fuel their addition or because both tributes have seemingly offended him for different reasons, nobody knows.

The two shake hands before being led into the Justice Building.

Whilst Marlee has some spunk to her in comparison to the meek Hawker, neither make a considerably impression on the Capitolites.

* * *

 **WE'RE HALFWAY THERE!**

 **Ahh I just want to get into the Games! The way I do tributes is I write down key stuff like weapons, strengths, weaknesses and game strategy when I get to the reaping so I'm already thinking about things like the Bloodbath and it sucks! I just want to write it!**

 **But, nonetheless, here are Marlee and Hawker! Thank you so much to 66samvr and Sparky-She-Demon for them respectively; I hope I did them justice!**

 **I plan to try and update this story quickly so we can get into the good stuff, so District Seven here we come!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	9. District Seven Reaping

_Ivy Birch, District Seven Female, 16 years old_

Perhaps my biggest concern on reaping day _shouldn't_ be hiding my sister's birthday present but it is. It's Daisy's birthday in a couple of days and I'm excited about what I got her. I'm usually a calm person but Daisy always brings out the giddy schoolgirl in me even when I just think about her reaction.

I've gotten her a watch because she complains what time it is since the clocks in our house don't work; our father keeps forgetting to change the batteries. It's a nice watch, one I worked extra hard to get. I took small shifts at the lumber mills to pay for it and then did some bartering at school for it. I originally brought a decently stuffed animal that was swapped for a vintage toy which then was swapped because some guy's dad was into collecting those sort of things. It was a long process but anything is worth seeing how happy she is when she opens it.

I decide to hide it in one of the cupboards in the kitchen, right at the very back behind some tins of beans. We've barely touched those tins and I doubt we will in the two days it is before her birthday so it's a solid place to hide it. After closing the door, stepping back and smiling to admire how ingenious the place is, my concerns shift to the main thing at hand today. The reaping.

The past couple of years I've made the mistake of not preparing myself for the future during the reaping morning, instead doing nothing for the two week period and being in an unorganised mess when we have to go back to school and work. This year I plan to be more organised and had put paper I might need on my bed, ready to put into my backpack.

The various papers on my desk include summer homework, extra work we were assigned in case we wanted to get further ahead in next year's studies, various receipts and papers that document how I was able to get Daisy's watch and some work documents. Amongst them are a few miscellaneous papers like drawings Daisy does for me and some memorabilia that I'd like to file away for the future. I organise them in my backpack with the school work at the front followed by work stuff, then receipts, then drawings and all the miscellaneous papers. It feels nice to be organised; it means I don't need to stress later on and I can be relaxed (as one can be) during the Hunger Games period.

Afterwards I get changed into my reaping clothes and they're nothing too fancy; a dark blue tunic top with casual pants. They have a hint of fashion whilst still being incredibly comfortable. I leave my hair down, allowing it to frame my oval face. I give myself a once over in the mirror in my room, tidying up some stray hairs and, just in case, practising my unemotional expression should I be reaped, before going downstairs and joining my family for the breakfast which by now has started.

We typically have pancakes and syrup, using the homemade syrup from the sap our parents collect when they go out and work. When I did my bits of work to help for Daisy's watch, I always worked harder so I could take home some of the sap saved in the mill.

Whenever we have breakfast on the morning of the reaping, we're never quiet. My mother and father believe that silence lets any fears we have grow quicker which only leads to us worrying excessively.

"Are you both ready?" My mother asks, looking at Daisy and then myself. We both nod and she smiles, "Good, we wouldn't want to be late."

"Maybe we should have some more pancakes when we're done?" My father suggests, to which myself, mother and sister all nod which elicits an airy laugh from him, "Good to see nobody's arguing."

It's in moments like this that I realise how much I love my family.

* * *

 _Everett 'Rhett' Hummel, District Seven Male, 14 years old_

There's about half an hour left before the reaping and that doesn't make me more any quicker than I do usually. Why should I? I'm all ready for it - I dressed hours in advance so I can just spend the morning reading one of my favourite books. It's one about how psychology works and how persuasion can make people do things they otherwise wouldn't do. It's an interesting read, one I can say is tried and tested, each result coming out as predicted.

Most people spend reaping morning together with their families, having some sort of elaborate breakfast together before going off to the reaping together. I, however, don't bother with the breakfast part. I had it once and realised the nerves that everyone gets on reaping day prevented me from actually enjoying the food so, after that, I just went without it and have done ever since. Why would I waste my time doing something like that when I can be reading my books instead? I get more out of them than I ever would with a meal I wouldn't eat.

Although I've read the book I'm reading a multiple of times, it's always nice to re-read and make sure I know the techniques it talks about off the top of my head and can apply them in my daily life. It's a little bit hard at home since my mother, and to some extent my father, are immune to the mind games I try to play on them. I always imagine that'd be my strongest point when it comes to the Games; there'd be twenty-three other people who have no experience with me or my mind games, meaning I'd be able to persuade my way to victory - or that's the plan. Of course knowing my luck a Career might just decapitate me before I have the chance to open my mouth.

I'm at the part of the book where instances of people being controlled against their will are shown, examples being from the Hunger Games themselves. I imagine it'd be quite easy to get someone to do what you want during the Hunger Games; most people would be scared anyway just by being in the arena so if you were able to convince them that you could be key to their survival, I'm sure they'd have no quarrels with doing whatever you say - and that's what the book suggests. Of course, the book was written some twenty years ago when the Games were still relatively new in comparison to today. Ultimately I think if I were to be reaped I'd be good; my height might intimidate some of the non-Career district tributes away from me or, on the flip side, make them want to ally with me and from there I'd be able to convince them to do whatever I want, hopefully sending them to their deaths whilst bettering myself. Who knows? Hopefully I'll get past the reapings without ever knowing.

When the whistle blows to indicate that we should be making our way to the Justice Buidling for the reaping, I have half the mind to stay where I am and finish the book since I'm only a few pages away. I can hear my mother call for me from downstairs and I ignore her, deciding that, _yes_ , I can read the final few. I hear a few more shouts before it goes silent and I momentarily think they've left without me but, low and behold, my mother enters my room and manages to get me to move by taking my book from me, causing me to follow along after her for it. Whilst perhaps not the best tactic to get me to move, it's an ingenious one so I'll give her props.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

District Seven, known for producing some of the most resilient Panem citizens, is always an interesting watch when it comes to the reapings. Some years tributes stronger than the Careers themselves are reaped. Other years there's volunteers who champion the Career alliance from the inside and, inevitably, some years those who have yet to blossom into the burliness of Seven are reaped and are sent to their deaths.

There's always an air of beauty within the square of District Seven; blooming flowers decorate the sides and trees spill in from the edges. Although the further out towards the forest you get the more robust the buildings are, the centre of District Seven is very much nature and mankind integrated into one, creating a breathtaking scene of beauty. Many a Capitol drama and books have had scenes based on the view of Seven's square during the reaping.

The escort of District Seven is a weathered man, someone who's been escorting for as long as people remember and has been given the nickname 'Grandfather Oak' amongst the citizens of Seven. He's been cited as one of the best escorts for calming the younger tributes down and does anything he can to make their lives as bearable as possible in their final weeks. Some rumours suggest his family hails from Seven and that he himself was born there, but nobody can prove them true or false.

The way he delivers his speech is more akin to a story, animating it as and when he sees fit. If one wasn't aware of what they were watching, they would swear they were listening to a fairytale being told by their grandfather or father. The escort's animation has always meant that the mayor has to be of a similar nature which she is; creating the perfect tag team for the introduction of the reaping.

"As always, we'll start with the ladies," The escort says with a warm smile, perhaps hints of sympathy coming through.

He walks to the bowl and chooses a name at random, giving the bowl a single glance before doing so. He possesses the quality to look both satisfied and dissatisfied with picking a name; appealing to both the Capitolite audience but also the audience of the Districts, playing to either side's thoughts towards the Games.

"Ivy Birch!" He says, after ripping the black seal and studying the name to ensure he doesn't pronounce it wrong - other escorts don't take the care he does and end up looking a fool. The escort for District Seven is one of, if not _the_ , most professional escorts.

A girl from the seventeen-year-old's section walks down the aisle calmly, perhaps looking oddly serene given the situation she's in. She's not short but not tall, being in the middle ground. What makes her stand out is her curly black hair that falls just past her chin, her light blue eyes and pale skin. Although Seven is known for their more tanned tributes with browner tones, those like Ivy aren't uncommon and it's nice to see some difference in the tributes.

She takes her place beside the escort and flashes him a small, uncomfortable smile. He reciprocates it, his embodying sympathy more than discomfort, but a smile nonetheless.

"And now, for the gentlemen."

Just as before, he walks to the bowl and chooses a name with simultaneous satisfaction and sadness, returning to the microphone and breaking the seal.

"Everett Hummel!"

A tall boy, roughly six foot, emerges from the fourteen-year-old's section. For any other District this might be extremely shocking but, for Seven where taller heights are commonplace, Everett's height causes admiration rather than confusion. He walks with a slight hunch, causing his mousy brown hair to fall into his eyes of the same colour.

He lets out a yell of frustration and stomps to the stage, causing those in the reaping area to cower away from him and for the adults to look at him with shocked eyes. The escort himself is shocked, blinking with his mouth ajar. People look to see Ivy's reaction and see her staring at her district partner with wide eyes, probably in disbelief of his actions.

When he gets onto the stage, Everett attempts to kick over the microphone stand, causing him to be dragged to his spot by Peacekeepers. If people didn't feel sympathetic for Ivy before, they certainly do now as she busies herself with looking elsewhere from Everett.

The escort looks at the two of them before presenting them to the District, "Here are your tributes for the Sixty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games! You may now shake hands."

It's unmissable the way Ivy hesitates before shaking Everett's hands, likewise, it's unmissable to see the face of annoyance on Everett's face and the way he squeezes her hand perhaps a bit too hard, causing her to recoil.

Everyone can feel Ivy's relief as the two are separated and led into the Justice Building.

* * *

 **And here's District Seven!**

 **Even I can't help but feel sorry for Ivy.**

 **Thank you so much to Fluffytail15 and SylveonCupcake for Ivy and Everett respectively! I hope I did them justice :)**

 **Only five districts left! If I keep on updating as regularly as I have been, hopefully by the end of next week we'll be in the Capitol!**

 **I also must plug my other SYOT (125th! Go check it out B) !) has 13 tribute spots left open! The open spots are on my profile and please read the first chapter if you do intend to submit! Thanks!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	10. District Eight Reaping

_Taylor Solo, District Eight Female, 13 years old_

I always spend the first half of every reaping morning hanging out with my three friends; Livvy, Manila and Gia. As soon as the actual Hunger Games starts, nobody in Eight really goes around and talks to anyone else so this'll more than likely be our last chance to hang out until the Games end or we go back to school. We usually spend the time telling jokes and just hanging out as if there's not the raffle of death hanging over our heads. We're only thirteen though, so based on our chances, we _shouldn't_ get reaped. We all know that the odds can change whenever they want and they're not reliable, but it makes us hanging out a little less sombre.

Our conversation today doesn't stray far from the usual type we have; gossip in our grade at school and, probably expected from girls our age, boys.

"I heard Marlin likes Indigo," Manila says with a nod at our widened eyes, "Woollen told me before school got out the other day."

" _The_ Marlin?" Livvy enquires, shaking her head in disbelief, "The one who's pretty much Career training?"

Everyone has a love-hate relationship with Marlin, the boy from our year. We like him because he's funny and good company but his family's rich and his father insisted his sons train for the Games. His older brother, Declin, volunteered a few years back and got to the final five and most of us think Marlin'd win if he went into the Games, improving on his brother's mistakes. Indigo hates the Games after losing her sister last year, which is why _this_ gossip is fascinating.

"Is there any other Marlin?"

"Has anyone asked Indigo if she knows?" I ask. Gossip in our school spreads quickly so if Manila heard it from someone, chances are that it's made it's way to Indigo herself.

"Of course she has!" Manila says after a second of silence, a grin appearing on her face. She loves gossip and _this_ might just be the gossip of the year, "And she hates it - and him."

We all burst into giggles because that'll be sure to damage Marlin's ego before resuming with other gossip matters like which teacher we don't like and all our current crushes.

When it's about an hour and a half to go before the reaping, I return back home to spend some time with my family and get ready. Since we usually hang out at Livvy's house, I can make it home fairly quickly because it's only down the road. I say goodbye to Livvy, Manila and Gia, thank Livvy's mom for having me over before returning home.

Usually it's timed perfectly that brunch has been made and, sure enough, Kyva's already there making a large amount of unnecessary noise. I love my younger sister, but it's hard to _not_ be annoyed by her.

"Taylor?" My mom calls from the kitchen, "Is that you?"

"Yeah!" I shout as I take my place opposite Kyva at the table. She smiles at me innocently and I suppose she can be forgiven for being annoying - she is only ten after all.

It's not too long after I sit down that my parents bring in the food, taking their places at the table; my mother beside Kyva and my father next to me.

The conversation we have over our brunch is warming and nice; our parents make both Kyva and I, more so myself than Kyva since I'm the one going to the reaping, comfortable and relaxed. It's the little things that they do that I appreciate.

* * *

 _Silver Mahoney, District Eight Male, 18 years old_

Reaping days never differ too much from one another with my family; we spend the morning together, leave for the Justice Building together and then come home and celebrate that none of us have been reaped. As the usual pessimistic person I am, I always advise against it seeing as every year the celebrations get more extravagant the closer my sister and I get to getting through the reaping ages.

My family are excessively optimistic today because it's my last reaping, bringing the extravagant meal we might have after the reaping for breakfast. Clearly they're ignoring that I have seven slips of my name in the reaping bowl this year and that there is a likelihood of me being reaped. I digress though, if they want to be optimistic and celebrate too early then they can go ahead.

"Are you excited for today?" My mother asks as I sit down at the breakfast table and take some toast. Usually they wouldn't be this excited or hopeful but I can see why - one of their two kids has a chance to no longer be reaped. I guess, if I wasn't as pessimistic, I'd be excited too.

I shrug, "Eh. I just gotta hope the odds are in my favour."

"They will be," She replies with a smile before turning to my sister, "And you, Gold? Are you excited to get another reaping down?"

My sister, ever the intelligent one, shrugs, "As excited as I can be with my chances as they are."

Whilst I'm just pessimistic about the whole thing, Gold at least takes into consideration her chances. For her, she has less of a chance being reaped than me so I guess that's one thing for her to be excited about.

"Your chances say you're going to be fine!" Our father says as he comes into the room, a smile on his face. He's always trying to be funny and make any bad situation humorous for us, "I think we can all celebrate tonight!"

"I could get reaped," Is all I say and Gold nods.

"His chances are a lot higher than mine, but there's a probability he'll be fine."

The momentarily worried faces of my parents smile again as my father nods as Gold, "See? If she's thinking of your chances and saying you've got a good probability of coming out then you've got nothing to worry about!"

Gold and I glance at each other, probably sharing the same mental thought that I father perhaps shouldn't be making a happy situation. Then again, I'm sure he understands there's always the risk and this is just his way of getting through it.

"I'm sure you'll be fine Silver," My mother says, smiling warmly at me. She's just as optimistic as my dad is that I'll get through the reaping but I think she has a better perception of my sister's words. I think she's accepted there's a chance I can be reaped but is actively choosing to be optimistic to forget about it. I can only assume having children makes you want to see the positive rather than the negative - nobody wants to actively think about a relative, let alone their own child, going into the arena.

"I hope so," Is all I reply with, not letting my pessimism get the better of me for once.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

District Eight is another District who's reapings never truly garner a whole load of attention. They, like Three and Five, just want it over and done with so they can continue with their lives and so the two families can lock themselves away. Nobody in Eight likes the way the reapings are drawn out, finding it unnecessary and, for a lack of a better term, offensive. To a lot of citizens, it's enough that two of their youth are being snatched from them but to prolong the entire choosing? It's just salt being rubbed into the wound.

Those in Eight watch the standard film with vacant gazes and listen to both their mayor and the escort speak, but don't take any of it in. To District Eight, bar seeing their tributes die, the worst thing is how drawn out the whole process is.

The escort, an elderly woman, always understands this and does her best to hurry up - much to whatever gratitude District Eight can muster up to give her.

"We'll start with the girls," She says before walking to her left where the bowl of female names is. She picks one from the middle of the bowl and breaks the black seal as she walks back to the microphone.

"The female tribute for District Eight is... Taylor Solo!"

A girl who's just on the taller side of short emerges from the thirteen-year-old's section, long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Although she freezes up for a second as she gets into the aisle, as soon as she walks, little things like her skinny frame with some muscle become obvious. It's clear under the summer sun she's tanned a little and, when the camera pans in on her face, it shows her emotional guard fails her as a few tears come from her hazel eyes.

It's always sad when a younger reapee is reaped and Taylor is no different; a few girls in the same age category as her wail and the mood of Eight has become a lot more sombre, almost as if there's a mutual understanding amongst the entirety of Eight that it's unlikely Taylor'll come home.

The escort nods, "And now we'll do the boys!"

Like before, she picks a name from the middle of the bowl of male names and breaks the seal on the way back to the microphone, clearing her throat before she speaks.

"The male tribute for District Eight is Silver Mahoney!"

A tall, muscular boy from the eighteen-year-old's section steps forward, a clear contrast to Taylor. Although darker in skin tone, he has a paleness about him but most tend not to take notice of that and instead look at how marketable he is towards the Capitolite audience. He looks to mutter something under his breath, his brown eyes looking down, but he makes his way to the stage nonetheless. As he takes his place next to the escort he runs a hand through his black hair, probably to release some of the stress that's inevitably building up inside of him.

The escort smiles at the two tributes and presents them to the cameras and District Eight.

"Here are the tributes from District Eight for the Sixty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games! You make now shake hands."

The stark contrasts between Taylor and Silver are only emphasised as they shake hands; the latter dwarfs Taylor and pre-Games outcomes are already being predicted as the two are led into the Justice Building.

* * *

 **And here's our District Eight pair Taylor and Silver! I**

 **I will admit, I struggled with this chapter. Not because the tributes were hard to write, but for the past few days I've been in one of those moods where I'm not satisfied with whatever I write. It's not writer's block, it's just this dissatisfaction. I did contemplate redoing this chapter but I had done so much and I think deleting what I had done would've demotivated me and that's the last thing I wanted to happen, so although I've honed in on a couple of traits from Taylor's and Silver's personalities, in their Goodbyes and Train Rides I'll make sure to show you all the rest of their characters!**

 **As always, thank you to District 9 Tribute and BabyRue11 for Taylor and Silver respectively, I hope I did them justice!**

 **District Nine is next! We're getting there!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	11. District Nine Reaping

_Veda Finley, District Nine Female, 17 years old_

The reaping is hard enough as it is; the chance to be chosen to be sent to your more than likely inevitable death makes most people nervous but to add attachment onto it? It just makes it worse and more dreaded. I never used to understand what a few people meant at school who had family who died in the Games when they said you just imagine the dread tenfold but, two years ago, Ridge entered the Games and never came back and now I know what it's like.

I was only fifteen when my brother was called up as the male tribute. I can remember screaming for him to come back down and, when we had to say goodbye, I refused to believe I'd never see him again. I was allowed to think that - he was one of the strongest tributes Nine had in years and he made it far; the final two. I'll never forget the atmosphere of my father, mother and I screaming at the TV as if he could hear us. He tried so hard and _just_ fell short, falling to the other tribute. That was hard to see - my emotions took ages to remain stable again and I spent many a night waking up screaming for him to fight.

We spent last year's reaping, the first without Ridge, looking through baby photos of him and going through his keepsakes, desperately trying to relive in a time where he was with us. This year we do the same, trying to stomach down some breakfast. It doesn't help us in the long run with coming to terms with his death and we all know that, but it lets us live in a world where he's just out working or something, just for the morning. As I said, none of us have come to terms with his death; through me waking up with nightmares, my father rewatching his Games over and over again and my mother sometimes laying out an extra plate when there's only me and my younger sister Kyla left. One day I'd like to think we can move on the best we can and remember him for the happy memories and not the time in the arena - and that's why we did what we're doing now last year, in hopes to remember the positives.

We laugh over some of the photos we have today, my mother having found out an extra photo album.

"Oh, look at this one," She says as she points to a picture where Ridge is about to throw some discarded dough at me who's blissfully unaware.

"This one's a classic," My father says, nodding to a picture of Ridge on the old bike that's made it's way from him, to me and now is Kyla's - she exclaiming that it's _her_ bike and she's happy to see it. I think it warms my heart when Kyla reacts well to anything with Ridge in; she's only six so she doesn't remember too much of him so anything's better than nothing.

While we look over photos, my hands fiddle with the old teddy bear he used to have. He hadn't touched it for years when he went to the Capitol but it's something that warms my heart and makes me a little happier. It brings back memories of times me and him would play with our childhood teddy bears and create imaginary worlds with them. Holding it close to me brings back those memories and I like to cling onto them while I can.

The time always flies by when we look at stuff relating to Ridge; we get lost in the memories and almost always forget we have the reaping to attend to. It's why we get changed as soon as we wake up so we can just drop everything and go. Usually, once the dreaded reaping is over, we come back home and have a decent lunch before resuming with our trip down memory lane.

When the whistle blows that signals us to go to the Justice Building, I remind myself that I only have two reapings left (the fact that I'm the same age he was when he was reaped unnerves me a little, but I pay little attention to it) and that, when we get back, I can throw myself back into the happy memories I have with Ridge.

* * *

 _Mattaniah Hest, District Nine Male, 12 years old_

Probably one of the things my friends and I are excited about the most with the reaping, when we disregard the whole potential to die part, is the fact that it's no school. It's always been no school but this year it feels different and, naturally as twelve-year-old's, we're excited about that. Naturally the thought of being reaped looms over all of our heads and that's why we all gather around in one of the grassy areas outside the school to hangout and take our minds off of it.

At first we talked about the homework we have over the three week period and exchange stories on who got into trouble on the last day of school and what they think their punishment'll be when we go back. A couple of the girls tell us how some of the teachers were overly kind, probably sympathetic for us that we're about to go through the reaping process and spend the next seven years of our lives desperately begging we're not reaped. I think if I was a teacher that I'd feel sorry for us too. Come to think of it, a couple of the teachers were particularly nice to me given that, for most of my life, I've pretty much been the token sickly one out of the bunch. It gets bad enough that sometimes, when I'm sick enough, you can count my ribs. I don't let it damper my mood, though, and I always aim to have the biggest smile because if I can make other people happy, it distracts me from what's going on inside of me.

"I wonder if the tributes are gonna be older or younger this year?" Miller, one of the taller boys in our friendship group, asks as he throws a rock with the intention of getting it in a can we found. He misses and due to the fact he was acting so confident beforehand, the rest of us can't help but laugh.

Whilst we continued to chat and the topic of our conversation graduated to that of the Hunger Games, we move on from sitting around and instead try to throw rocks into the cans.

"Probably someone older," Ryeanne, the girl he's smitten with, replies, "They've got more names in and if they have tesserae, then it's bound to be one of them."

"Maybe it'll be someone in the middle?" I suggest, "Like, a fifteen-year-old? That seems to be typical."

Miller shrugs, "We'll just have to see."

It takes me a second, but I grin, "I can barley wait."

Since I'm not as big as my peers and I hear people wonder if the next winter'll be my last, I always make up for it with being the joker - puns being a speciality. It takes some in the group a few seconds but they all do a forced, fake laughter in jest along with me. We wouldn't make a joke about the Hunger Games themselves and never the tributes, but we need to lighten up our own moods - as the time ticks on, more and more people in the group get quieter, getting increasingly more nervous about the next few hours.

After my pun we throw rocks into the can a bit more, myself and Ryeanne coming up victorious with the most scored. With the whistle blowing to signal that we have to make our way down to the Justice Building, we all give one another a quick hug before making our way down together - we all said we'd meet up again tomorrow so a lot of us, myself included, are looking forward to that.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

District Nine is another in the line of districts that nobody really anticipates the reapings of. It's a pattern; the outer the District number is, the less enthusiastic people are. It's mostly because tributes, no mattered how old or big they are, are unskilled and usually fall to a Career tribute. On the flip side, whenever someone from an Outer District does win, it allows for there to be the added shock value that those in the Capitol feed off of.

District Nine is usually a stepping stone for escorts aspiring to escort for the Career districts and, after the previous escort passed away, the newest one is the previous District Twelve Escort; a short woman whose skin, hair and makeup are varying shades of blue, no matter how unsightly it looks and how sickly she appears. She's certainly more effervescent than the previous escort and some of the citizens actually look at her and listen to her - much to her excitement. District Nine isn't as enthusiastic to the reapings as the Career Districts are, but they're more responsive than those in Twelve.

The generic speech she gives is to be less desired and she loses the attention of District Nine during this time; they'd rather stare at the screens and wait for the inevitable film that they've watched countless times. As ever, it's impressionable on the twelve-year-old's who have a new perspective of it, given that they themselves can be reaped as opposed to before. The mayor, a dull man who nobody is particularly fond of anymore, gives his own speech about District Nine and how honoured they are to have victors and to continue to fight to show what District Nine is made of. He recycles the same speech year on year, only changing it slightly when it comes to a Quell. It's no wonder that District Nine tributes look even more terrified from being reaped; they're probably pulled from their daydreams that came about during his speech.

"We'll start with the ladies!" She says, shrill voice being ten times more lively than the gravely voice those of Nine are used to. It's a hard change to get used to, but a change nonetheless.

She walks to the bowl of female names with a bounce in her step, hair trailing behind her effortlessly. If she wasn't so _blue_ , she might be considered a natural beauty. She walks around the bowl, randomly picking a name on her way back to the centre. It's a new way of reaping - one that reminds the districts that they're that dispensable to the Capitol.

"Veda Finley," She says into the microphone, a smile on her face as she reads out the name. There's an added excitement to her voice, one that succeeds that of trying to be the best new escort; Veda Finley is the younger sister of Ridge Finley, the closest Nine has gotten to a victor in recent years.

The cameras pan to her stoic face as she steps out from the seventeen-year-old's section and makes her way down the aisle to the stage. In the background a wail can be heard and nobody has to know anything more about the Finley's other than Ridge's participation in the Games to know that it's her mother being floored by the reality sinking in before her. Veda's a lot shorter than her brother but has the same auburn coloured hair and, presumably, green eyes. As she takes her place by the escort, the signature button nose Ridge was known for becomes prominent and some imagine that they're looking at Ridge standing there. Her eyes glance around at everyone in front of her, face void of any emotion. It's become less often for two siblings to go in, in comparison to the earlier days of the Games, and it only makes people sympathise with her.

The escort, pleased with the outcome, turns to the crowd, "And now, the boys!"

She repeats the process again, picking a name without a second thought, leisurely almost. She breaks the black seal on the way and stands in front of the microphone.

"Mattaniah Hest!"

There's a few gasps coming from the twelve-year-old's sections before a sob, presumably belonging to Mattaniah, can be heard. The escort repeats the name a few more times and it takes for the crowd surrounding the twelve-year-old to part, allowing the Peacekeepers to come and escort him to the stage. It's always sad when a twelve-year-old is reaped, even more so when they let their emotions get the better of them. It's so bad that even Veda has to look away from her district partner, probably not wanting to let him set her own emotions off.

The cameras pan at Mattaniah and the most obvious thing about him is how scrawny he is. He's small and looks terrifyingly thin (that or his clothes just _swamp_ him) and his long, black hair is pulled back in a pony tail. A few adults that surround the reapee shake their heads slightly and, based on that, it can be deduced that Mattaniah fails to even be one of the stronger, underestimated twelve-year-olds. He continues to sniffle as he takes his place beside the escort and she, in comparison to her reaction to Veda, looks considerably less enthused.

"Here are the District Nine tributes for the Sixty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games! May the Odds be Ever in your Favour!"

The two shake hands, though Veda continues to look away in an attempt to console her emotions and wastes no time in letting go so she can be led into the Justice Building.

* * *

 **And here's our District Nine pair! I like these two, given their stark contrast but also their similarities.**

 **As always, thank you to greekdemigodwannabe and screening for Veda and Mattaniah respectively! I hope I did them justice.**

 **We've only got three more districts to go! Updates might be slow over the next week or so given I have two essays due, but I'll see what I can do.**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**


	12. District Ten Reaping

_Diane Lanius, District Ten Female, 17 years old_

Reaping's don't change much for our family - we do the same thing every year without fail. We eat our breakfast on our laps as we watch the programme where Caesar Flickerman talks about how much potential each of the Districts have in this year's Hunger Games. We're lucky we come from Ten, in this sense, because we get a fairly positive and optimistic comment about our District. Other Districts like Eleven or Twelve aren't as lucky and usually end up not being hyped up by the Capitol at all.

After watching the show, we always lament on how much we wish my brother could be here. He died two years ago and, thankfully, it wasn't in the Games - though, if it was, he might've had a better chance of survival. When he was eighteen he had a job in one of the slaughter houses where, in a freak accident, one of the blades came loose and his shirt was caught and, well, let's just leave it at the fact that we buried him in pieces. It never gets easier without him and on the morning of the reaping, a time where families come together and show how close their bond is with one another, we all feel sad.

Which leads us to now.

We all sit, watching as Caesar Flickerman recounts what happened last year, how the male tribute from Ten, Marron, made it until the final two before being mercilessly hacked by the girl from Two, Amora. He alludes that perhaps it can expected that the tributes from Ten establish themselves as threats and that there hopefully is bad blood between Two and Ten this year. It's not uncommon for the District who came in second place to have a rivalry with the winning District for the following Games. One year District Eleven won over District Two and, in the following year, both Eleven tributes were mowed down in the Bloodbath by the pair from Two.

Even though my brother's been dead for two years, my mother still makes a plate of food for him on the reaping day, mostly out of habit. It's always laid out next to be on the couch where he used to sit. My mother know it's an unhealthy thing to do in terms of trying to move on past his death and live with it, but she can't help it.

We always end the programme after the talk of District Ten, not needing to know about the other Districts really. I look down at my plate of food, knowing that I haven't eaten much. It's understandable, though, seeing as I still have chances to be reaped.

"Maybe you should go and get ready?" My mother suggests, smiling sympathetically at me. Both of my parents dread the reapings as much as I do; it's bad enough losing one kid but the chance to lose another? I can't imagine what they must go through on days like this.

I nod, getting up out of my chair and picking up the plate left for my brother.

"Don't forget to wear his ring," My father reminds me as I walk into the kitchen and place the two plates on the side beside the sink.

"I won't!" I shout back before making my way upstairs. My brother wore a bronze ring all the time and, on reaping days, I wear it as a symbol of good luck, hoping that I'll be able to get through another year.

I'm optimistic about this year - I've made it through five years, only two more to go.

* * *

 _Veles Ozera, District Ten Male, 18 years old_

Every reaping I always make sure to spend as much time as I can with my family and friends in the morning. Usually I prank my siblings Raena and Perun but on reaping days our pranks are halted - half because if one of us was to go up into the Games it'd be a bit sad to know that some of our last interactions were pranking one another, _especially_ if the prank was bad.

The beginning of the day always starts with the mundane tasks that always need to be done. I always start by helping Raena sort the sheets on her bed, a thing she can never seem to grasp the hand of doing but it's fine - she helps me with my horse when it comes to the health side of things. She is, after all, apprenticing with the local veterinarian. It's always funny when we do it; all of my pranks that she didn't fall for or didn't set off come to the surface and we're able to spend a few minutes laughing at each one and theorising what the outcome could've been and her retaliation prank.

"That one might've been a good prank," Raena says as she picks up what would've set off a piece of string to be cut, allowing flour to come from a balloon above her, "Shame you never got to do it."

"There's always after the reaping," I say with a small smirk, carefully getting the aforementioned balloon from it's hiding place, "You'll just have to watch out."

"Great," she says, a smile forming on her own face, "I'll have to be always looking out for balloons."

The next job on the list is always to make sure my horse, Thunder, is safely in his stable - as well as the other horses we have. In Ten there's been reports that on reaping days specifically, some livestock and other animals are killed for their food. It's a grim reality that we have to face, so we always take the extra precautions to make sure that our own animals are safe. As my parents and siblings go out to herd our other animals in, I walk around the field to collect our various horses and bring them each into their own stable, ensuring that each door is locked and that they have enough food and water until after the reaping.

They always say animals can detect human emotions and, if anyone ever needed proof, Thunder on reaping days is undeniable. Whilst usually feisty, fitting for my horse, on reaping days he becomes a little more docile as if he can understand the solemn mood in the air. Sometimes when I try to take me in he likes to tease me almost, following me before taking off somewhere else and returning a few seconds later. Today, however, he lets me lead him into the stable and, for that, I make sure to give him a small hug before closing the stables up.

"The whistle's going to go any minute now," My mother says as I walk through the door, laying various ropes and items used to help me get the horses by the side of it, "You should go up and get changed."

I nod and smile, "Will do. I'll be back down as soon as I get changed."

Sure enough, as soon as I finished getting changed and putting all the clothes I'd been in this morning in the laundry basket, the whistle blows that signals we should be heading to the Justice Building. As we leave, I make sure to give all the animals a once over in their respective pens and stables - when we come back from the reaping we'll make sure they can roam again.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

Although being one of the Outer Districts, District Ten never fails to excite the Capitol with it's reaping, mostly because the tribute it offers are so varied but nearly all have a tolerance with blood and violence, making them among the more dangerous tributes. Likewise, Ten's tributes have a tendency to be among the burlier tributes, given the District's livestock industry, even the twelve-year-old's can pack a punch as many have found out the hard way in the past.

Ironically enough, unlike in some Districts, the best part of the District Ten reaping is the tributes themselves and trying to see if they'll be burly butcher types or the smaller ones who haven't quite matured into that role. Whilst some other Districts take pride in their mayors and some in their escorts, Ten has it's pride in the mysteriousness of their tributes.

The escort for District Ten, like the mayor, is rather plain. A middle-aged woman who usually wears muted tans in an attempt to resonate with Ten, she never puts in a large amount of gusto and instead chooses to just get it over and done with. The mayor of District Ten, of a similar age range, is the same - his speech is nothing special and changes only when there's been something big happening in the Capitol or the District itself to warrant something different in his speech.

Subsequently, the citizens of District Ten barely get through the reaping awake, some of the older citizens even falling asleep. The most animated part of the reaping before the tribute selections is the mandatory film which most don't bother to take in, the information having become old years ago. Still, some of the younger kids are intrigued by it and show a bit more interest.

When the film comes to the end the escort flashes the District the biggest smile she can manage as she motions to the bowl of female names, "As always! To find the District Ten tributes for the Sixty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games, we'll start with the ladies!"

Her walk to the bowl is always slightly peppier, mostly because she's anticipating who's being chosen as the tribute as much as the next person. She picks a name carefully before returning to the microphone, breaking the black seal on the way.

"The female tribute for District Ten is... Diane Lanius!"

An extremely tall girl, about six foot, emerges from the seventeen-year-old's section, face emotionless. The only thing that betrays her with fear is the look in her brown eyes and, even then, only the most trained would be able to identify such a thing. She has tanned skin with brown hair that falls around her shoulders, her frame being broadened thanks to working in the various slaughter houses around Ten. She's definitely intimidating, which gives the escort a boost in energy.

The escort smiles as Diane takes her place beside her before presenting her to Ten with a small clap.

"And now, for the boys!"

Her peppy walk is even more energetic as she walks to the bowl of male names, choosing a name a lot quicker this time and there's an obvious bounce in her step as she returns back to the centre of the stage.

"And the male tribute for District Ten is... Veles Ozera!"

From the eighteen-year-old's section, a taller male emerges. With a frame a lot like Diane's, he is equally as menacing and intimidating. Like Diane, he remains emotionless. His black hair, tanned skin and icy blue eyes make him oddly charming and the escort is thankful that she'll have an easy job trying to sell the two of them. In fact, her hardest job will be trying to determine what angle they'll go with when it comes to the pre-Games and Games themselves.

Like Diane, the escort presents Veles to District Ten with a small clap before ordering the two to shake hands, smiling as they do so.

"Here are your tributes for the Sixty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games - Diane Lanius and Veles Ozera!"

The two are promptly led into the Justice Building and, like last year, District Ten is optimistic for the outcome.

* * *

 **And here is our District Ten duo! Diane and Veles!**

 **We've only got two more Districts until we're in the Capitol! Like always, I just can't wait to get to the Games!**

 **Thank you so much to Miaow0 and Sparky She-Demon for Diane and Veles respectively! I hope I did them justice!**

 **Now, onto some things I need to update you all on!**

 **1\. I'm really sorry for the lack of anything; reviews on SYOTs I'm in, updates on any of my SYOTs and the like. University hit me like a truck this week back with two essays due and, with one of them, the system we use to turn in our essays wasn't working and, with the other, Word just kept on wanting to freeze. In short, I didn't feel like writing anything at all. But! I'm back now and activity should be up once again.**

 **2\. A question I've been pondering recently is - do you think there's such a thing as a trope-less, stereotype-less tribute? I see the word used a lot in reviews (both on my own fics and on others) and it got me thinking about it. It's kinda lame how much I've thought about this but, in my opinion, no; every tribute fits into a trope or a stereotype. Sure we have elements that make them unique within the category they're sorted into, but I think it's hard to have a wholly unique tribute. I'd love to hear your thoughts because it's something that's interested me!**

 **3\. After a long thought process and countless debates with myself, I have decided to put the 55th Hunger Games onto an indefinite, probable never writing it, hiatus. This is mostly because, after losing everything I had for it (I'm pretty sure I had something for all the reapings and were super happy with each of them) and failing to salvage any of it, I've lost all muse I had for the story. I don't like to quit on SYOTs because I feel like I've wasted time, but I simply can't bring myself to write it. I'm really sorry to everyone who submitted tributes to it. I'll keep the list of tributes in a Google Doc so I can remove it from my profile, but still have a list so if I ever do feel the desire to write it again, I can.**

 **My fourth and final point is;**

 **4\. I have a quell idea I _really_ want to do. I'm not talking how I felt with the 100th and 125th Hunger Games, this is one I _really_ want to do! As someone who likes to have multiple SYOTs going on so I can bounce back and forth, I am contemplating putting it up but I'll need to figure out the logistics of it first. Which leads me to ask, if you haven't already, please submit to the 125th Hunger Games SYOT I have going on! We have a ton of spaces still open and I'm nearly done with the District One reaping! The list of available tribute is on my profile and, all the information you need, will be in the first chapter or so of the SYOT itself! When all the spaces, or most, are filled, I'll start with this new SYOT!**

 **As always, reviews make me happy!**

 **~ Oli**

 **p.s: I'm really sorry for the long author's note ahhh**


	13. District Eleven Reaping

_Ginger Krishna, District Eleven Female, 17 years old_

Not many people are happy here in Eleven that we have to work on the morning of the reaping to ensure that we meet the quota which, I guess, is understandable; the one guaranteed day of the year that we get off has been taken away from us. I can understand that much. What I don't understand, perhaps thanks to my lack of empathy, is why people are upset over it for sentimental reasons. Everyone knows that the reaping is the morning that families exchange love and fear but, really, it seems pointless. All of us are going to die one day, those who die in the Games were just meant to die sooner. It's probably a nicer death - being decapitated sounds a lot quicker and less painful than dying of an illness.

I suppose more people should be grateful that we're out here doing this; not only would it give our tributes a fighting fire to do well to prove that District Eleven is a good place, but also it takes their mind if the impending reaping. If you asked me if I wanted to be out here harvesting cotton or apples or whatever, or being inside worrying about the reaping, I'd pick working. Of course, I'd pick reading over worrying but that's not one of the options given. Besides, no nobody needs to worry about getting dressed in time; all of us are dressed in our reaping best as we harvest away. Some might say we'll look scruffy when we turn up at the reaping in sweat soaked shirts or shirts with bits of cotton stuck to them but, alternatively, it could show us as being hard workers and taking what's thrown at us in stride. That's how District Eleven _should_ be portrayed; maybe it'd become a better place.

Although most people continue to hate the work we're doing - I guess I can include myself because this is eating into my precious reading time - at least every reapee has a determined look on their face, the older one's at least. Some of the younger ones look a little more intimidated by what's to come and I guess nobody can blame them - if you didn't have a nihilistic view on the world like myself and you were young with the prospect of being thrown into near certain death, you could be scared too. Though, it should be a comforting thought to them that no matter the achievements of the victor, chances are they won't be remembered in the long run. It's a nice thought when District Eleven is treated the way we are.

But, then again, normal people are just concerned with bettering themselves. They want to save themselves and, in The Hunger Games, I'm sure saving oneself is the only thing you can think of in the arena - or so a lot of outer District victors say. The Career Districts say they do what they do for the glory and the bragging right of being the most dominating District for a year. Maybe that's the attitude we all should have - wanting our Districts to be the best. I know I'd like Eleven to be a better place and if winning ensures that happens? Maybe it has to be done.

As I begin to finish up my work, I look around at the other people who, like me, can be reaped today. As I said, the older ones look more determined than the younger ones but _how_ determined are they? Will they let empathy get in their way? Of course everyone goes into the Hunger Games with the primary goal of coming out alive. The secondary goal? It _should_ be the betterment of your district and I wonder how many will put that secondary goal as their primary? My guess, not a lot. The thought of volunteering comes into my head and I realise more and more I'm a perfect candidate. My parents say I have no guilt and no empathy but make sure I know that normal people don't want to get hurt - maybe I'm the only one who can bring District Eleven the glory it deserves?

I continue to ponder the thought as the whistle blows, signalling us to turn in what we've harvested and file to the Justice Building for the reaping.

* * *

 _Angus Littletree, District Eleven Male, 17 years old_

There's not many people in District Eleven who can consider themselves rich, barely enough to be considered as a class alongside the difference in wealth, but they're still there. Most of them are the ones who own the shops around the Justice Building whilst a select few families are landowners. I'm fortunate enough to belong to the latter. The land my family owns is modest compared to some of the other families who are in the same sphere as us. Our orchards are a lot smaller and, allegedly, it's where our last name Littletree comes from. Our orchards are renowned for their smaller trees that produce smaller, sweeter apples that the Capitol has a liking for. My father remembers the time when his grandfather was given the land, lifting our family out of poverty. I'm lucky enough to have lived with a decent wealth all my life but, judging from some poverty seen in the Eleven, I can only admire my relatives.

What it ultimately means today though, bar the obvious lack of need of tessera on my part, is that neither myself nor my twin sister, Angelica, need to work to help meet the missed production quota like the rest of Eleven has to. We've been raised to be always be appreciative of what we have that others don't but its during times like this that the feeling of appreciation really sits in and makes it's presence known. My parents are kind landowners; the prospect of working on the reaping day had been something that the Capitol had made a possibility for the past few months and, in exchange for working earlier till later, my parents were able to secure their workers the day off, _especially_ those who have kids eligible for the reaping. It's a small gesture, but one my father says will go miles.

One of the first things my sister and I were instructed to do were to get dressed in our best so we can have a big reaping breakfast, as is tradition in our family. My father always says this meal is a representation of our family; there's a mix of higher up food and bread made from the tesserae. It's intention is to show my sister and I, the two who've never experienced poverty, where our family came from whilst knowing where we'll be going. The reaping breakfast always makes me feel humbled.

"It's cruel," My mother says, taking a bite from the cardboard-like bread, "The one day of the year that most of these parents and kids would like off to ready themselves is the day they decided to force work."

There's a murmur of agreement amongst the rest of us, my father nodding, "It's probably why they did it - make them work on the one day they think they'd want to whereas in reality it's the opposite."

It's no secret that here in District Eleven there's a feeling of dread when it comes to the reaping, but it doesn't mean that people don't want the morning to prepare. In fact, it's a rather integral part of life here in Eleven; everyone spends the morning with their family and hopes it's not the last time they're all together as one.

A silence settles amongst the four of us, broken only by the sound of metal utensils hitting the porcelain plates until my father clears his throat.

"I think it goes without saying that, if one of you is reaped, your mother and I love you both _so_ much and we don't care what happens in that arena. It's not, and won't ever be, the representation of yourselves. Got it?"

Our father always does this, every single year. It's a push to make us, hopefully, try our best in the arena. We thought it was just something every parent says to their kids, which it might be, but our mother has once said that one of my father's younger siblings got reaped and he gave them the same advice which, ultimately, they couldn't take because they were young and feared the judgement.

Both my sister and I nod in agreement and my father smiles.

* * *

 _Nobody's PoV_

The District Eleven reapings fall into the mid-space amongst the others; whilst not on the same level of splendour as the Career Districts, Eleven's reaping isn't nearly as depressing to watch as District Twelve's is. The mood of the reaping tends to reflect the mood of the people even more so than in other districts and this year, given most of the population was forced to work to meet the quota, the mood is rather gloomy and bitter. At the end of the day, however, it's fair punishment; failure to meet the quota by the reaping, have the morning taken off of you. It hasn't happened in years; hopefully District Eleven can be of an example to the other districts.

The citizens of Eleven look as one would expect them to; dishevelled, scruffy and there's an air of annoyance about them. They know the Capitol won't care about how annoyed they are, though, given that it was them who failed to meet the quota. That's another unofficial rule of the Hunger Games; if you fail to meet the quota, you get the morning of the reaping taken away from you. Still, the sounds of whistling and humming that comes from Eleven, arguably the most musical District, never fails to captivate Capitolite audiences.

The escort for District Eleven, a man in his mid-twenties with a signature pastel purple hair colour, does his best with what he's given. He tries his hardest to feed off what little energy Eleven gives him and projects out his own effervescent charm. Some years it works and some in Eleven crack a smile - though nobody knows if it's laughing because of his charm or laughing at him, many are inclined to believe the latter - but most years, this one included, all he's met with are expressionless faces. Though, how animated can a district be with the same tone of voice year in, year out?

As usual, the District Eleven citizens remain largely emotionless as the Capitol issued film plays as well as throughout their Mayor's speech. It's the same every year, the most exciting bit - and the most dreaded for them - is the reaping, to find out which two teenagers are going to be sent up to the Capitol to fight for their lives. A lot of people in Eleven consider the reaping a farewell, there not being any high hopes for returns usually. Therefore, any escort who gets landed with District Eleven has to try their hardest to find the energy within themselves and _not_ to look at the audience for any help.

With a clap of his hands, the escort beams at the audience, "Now! We will find out who will be representing District Eleven in the Sixty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games! As per tradition, ladies first!"

He walks over to the bowl of female names, the cloak he insists on wearing yearly billowing behind him with his fast paced step. He stops at the bowl and chooses a name from the top of the pile rather than choosing from somewhere in the middle like most other escorts do. He inspects the page for a second before smiling and nodding, returning to the centre of the stage.

At the centre of the stage, he breaks the small black seal on the back of the slip of paper and opens it up, clearing his throat in preparation to read the name.

"Willow Farroot!"

A small girl from the fourteen-year-old's section walks up, fear plastered all over her face. Her large brown hair makes her look tiny underneath it and, in the middle of the aisle, she freezes up and has to be nudged, then pushed, by Peacekeepers towards the stage. It's clear that some who know her know she won't do well because there's already sighs of defeat and weeping happening amongst the reapee pool before a distinct voice can be heard.

"I volunteer!"

Another small girl, this time from the seventeen-year-old's section, runs out into the middle of the aisle, Willow turning to look at her saviour. The younger girl is ushered back into her zone in the reapee section as the Peacekeepers move up to escort the volunteer to the stage. As mentioned, the girl is short too and has skin a darker shade of brown than the girl who walked in the aisle before her. She's skinny from under nutrition - as most are in District Eleven - and her long, black hair bounces with each step. She has a stronger expression on her face, no trace of fear, and some from her section nod and hum in agreement. Perhaps a better candidate has just stepped forwards.

As she stands next to the escort he smiles at her, clearly not expecting this dramatic change in events.

"And what's your name?" He asks her, an airy laugh following his question.

The girl gives him a glance before looking back at all the cameras, "Ginger Krishna."

"And, Ginger, why did you volunteer? Know Willow?"

Ginger shakes her head, "Someone who's not scared should be the one to make District Eleven a better place through the Games."

It's clear that the escort eats it right up because he nods, "Lovely!"

There's a pause as he presents Ginger to Panem before he nods, "And now, the boys!"

He repeats what he had done before on the bowl of male names, breaking the black seal as he returns to the centre of the stage.

"And the male tribute for District Eleven is... Angus Littletree!"

The Littletree name is popular in the Capitol, their apples being among the most delectable. Likewise, in District Eleven, the Littletree family's treatment of their workers is the most humane of the Eleven landowners so there's no surprise that there's a mantra of shocks from both the reapee pool _and_ the adults that surround the square.

From the seventeen-year-old's section, a fairly tall boy emerges. An anomaly in Eleven due to his paler skin that, across his nose and cheeks, is dotted with freckles, the boy walks to the stage slowly. His hair, an auburn colour, is styled neatly in an undercut - looking as one would expect one of the richer to look. His green eyes look about, trying to clasp on to something to look at. Much like his counterparts, however, he is fairly muscular and looks as if he could take a punch or two whilst being a deadly threat himself.

He looks a lot more nervous when compared to Ginger and, even then, he still has a stoic face - perhaps Ginger has such an intimidating aura about her that _anyone_ would seem scared when compared to her?

The escort, however, seems satisfied with both tributes and presents them to Panem, clapping, "And here are the District Eleven Tributes for the Sixty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games!"

The two shake hands slowly before they're escorted into the Justice Building.

Perhaps District Eleven has a fighting chance this year.

* * *

 **And here we have our District Eleven pair!**

 **Thank you so much to AmericanPi for Ginger - I hope I did her justice!**

 **Angus, like Ellison and Caspian on the 100th HG, is my own tribute submitted purely so we could get the Games going. But, nevertheless, here he is!**

 **So we've only got District Twelve to go and then we're in the Capitol! I can't wait!**

 **Also, I still have a ton of spots open for the 125th HG and the 200th HG on my profile - if you'd like to submit then please go ahead! All information needed will be found in their stories! All reservations for those stories have been revoked.**

 **As always, reviews make me happy~!**

 **\- Oli**


End file.
